


You Were My Summer

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find each other in a serendipitous meeting on a magical island in Italy. As the heat of summer wears on, the passionate heat between them builds as well. DOES END IN A HEA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to Caprubia for alpha-ing. And to Bailey4047, Otterlyardent and VanessaNFilms for prereading to make sure the smut was okay.

 

 

**_“One must maintain a little bit of summer, even in the middle of winter.”_ **

**_–Henry David Thoreau_ **

 

 

Chapter 1:

 

Hermione Granger stood in the shower at 12 Grimmauld Place. She was relishing the warmth of the water cascading over her shoulders and back, the stream of water nearly scorching. She replayed her conversation with Ron Weasley over and over in her head, but the ending never changed.

 

_Hermione was sitting at the end of the dock that ran out into the pond alongside the Burrow, her legs dangling lazily toward the water as she read her book. She heard Ron ambling down the ancient wood slats, slowly and hesitatingly. Since the end of the War the month prior, their friendship had been somewhat strained. In the harsh face of death, their emotions had gotten the best of them and they’d shared kisses in the midst of battle._

 

_But since returning to the Burrow, they’d been awkward and had orbited away from one another. Molly, for her part, was too grief-stricken to fuss over her youngest son’s relationship and Hermione had been able to hide for the better part of the month in Ginny’s room, undisturbed._

_Ron plopped down next to her, pushing his ginger locks away from his sweaty forehead and let out an awkward sigh. “’Mione, we need to talk.”_

_Here it was. Hermione had known it was coming. She knew she should be upset. But she couldn’t find it in herself to muster any indignation. She looked up into Ron’s bright cobalt eyes, dulled ever so slightly since his brother’s death. “I know what you’re going to say.”_

_“It’s not anything to do with you, you know—I’ve fancied you since first year. It’s just, with everything that’s happened…Fred…everyone else…I think it’s not the right time to get into a relationship. At least, not until we’ve both had enough time to process the world, post-War and given thought to what we want—”_

_“Unencumbered by the constant threat of a Dark Wizard and impending doom?” Hermione finished his thought, smiling slightly._

_Ron’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he gave her a weak lopsided grin. “We’ve been fighting alongside Harry for so long, I don’t even know what to do with my free time anymore.”_

_“You could return to Hogwarts,” she suggested slyly._

_Ron’s grin fell a little and he shifted on his haunches, his feet dipping into the pond’s surface. “I don’t think I could go back. I know you want to—you’ve always been braver than me. But, after everything, I think I just want to take some time. George asked me if I would come and assist him at the shop.”_

_Hermione sighed. She could understand his sentiments and his reasoning, but without his NEWTs, finding a position within the Ministry would prove to be difficult. She said nothing though, thinking of the way the Weasleys had gathered around Fred’s limp frame in the Great Hall. Instead, she put an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll support you in whatever you want to do.”_

_He looked at her and pushed her curls behind her ear. “I’m sorry to do this to us—to you. After so long.”_

_She smiled sadly. “It’s okay. Really. I honestly agree, especially since I am going back for my seventh year. We need time to be independent and breathe freely.”_

_Ron nodded. The War, and the subsequent death of a brother had matured him more than she could have ever imagined. He finally realized there was more to life than quidditch and exploding snap. Hermione felt a surge of pride and love for her friend as he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, ‘Mione. You know that. You’ve been my best friend for seven years.”_

_“I love you, too, Ron. I’m proud of you—I think you helping George is noble and good healing therapy for you both.”_

_Ron looked out over the pond as the sun began to set and leaned back on his palms. “I thought constantly about losing someone in my family during the War—you know that. I just,” he paused for a moment, gathering his next thought, “never thought it would be one of the twins. Ginny, because she’s so young and eager. Or my mum, trying to defend us. Or Percy, because he ran off. But not one of the twins. Not Fred. He was always the funny one, always kept everyone in good spirits.”_

_A single tear fought to fall from Ron’s eye and he cleared his throat. Hermione ran a soothing hand over his upper arm and sighed. The pair watched the sun set over the horizon, both feeling a shift in their friendship as a still, compatible silence settled over them._

She lathered soap into a sponge and scrubbed at her skin. This was a daily ritual since the War had ended—scrubbing her skin nearly raw under water that was too hot. Hermione was unsure why she showered so vigorously. Perhaps, she thought, it was to get rid of the terrifying memories of her friends’ broken bodies, the sound of Voldemort’s voice, the smell of smoke and blood that filled her nostrils and tormented her mind. Or perhaps it was because they’d been on the lam for so long without anything more than river water and some scourgifies to clean them that she hoarded the warm stream of water like a niffler hoarded gold.

 

Either way, she stood for nearly an hour each day in the shower and cleaned herself until her skin was red. She and Harry had moved into Grimmauld Place after Ginny and he had called it quits. They’d fought like pixies and leprechauns in the wake of the War, spending entirely too much time together in the days that followed. Ginny accused Harry of smothering her and Harry argued that he was simply trying to give her the attention she deserved after everything that had happened. In the end, it was a mutual split in the faces of her family and their friends. But Hermione knew, deep down, that Harry was heartbroken after losing Ginny, too. She held out hope that the two would reconcile once the dust had settled and the summer heat had passed.

 

But for now, she and Harry—the Weasley’s Outcasts, as they’d so aptly begun calling themselves—were living at Grimmauld Place. Harry had renewed his desire to restore the house with added vehemence and the two had spent countless hours over the last week cleaning baseboards and researching how to unstick Walburga’s portrait, which still hadn’t stopped screaming slurs in their direction at every opportunity.

 

Hermione dressed slowly, her muscles aching from the hard work she and Harry had been putting into the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. As she did, Ron’s face swam in her thoughts. She couldn’t blame him for breaking things off, honestly. And, without the threat of death looming over them, without being forced to live side by side, Hermione found that she agreed with him. She wanted a chance to navigate the world independently. It was time for a change in her life, after years of the same high-anxiety, high-probability-of-death, high-hormone-induced-pining way she’d lived for years. She almost felt relief, if she were honest with herself.

 

As she was putting a kettle on in the kitchen, the floo roared to life and Harry stepped through, dressed in his best set of robes. His hair was a mess of black, as usual, and his glasses were slightly askew from the trip. He removed them and breathed a quick breath on each lens, then ran his robe over them to clean them—a small muggle gesture that had Hermione smiling. “Morning, Harry,” she said, retrieving two cups from the newly cleaned cupboard.

 

“Is it still morning?” he asked, rubbing his face and removing his outer robes to reveal a shirt and tie.

 

He had spent the better part of the morning in the Ministry’s courtrooms, testifying against various Death Eaters. He had been providing memories and testimony at least once a week since the Final Battle and today was the last of his testimonies. Harry sat at the table and sank into the chair. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, leaning behind him to retrieve something from his robe pocket, “the Ministry has so graciously given us three vouchers to some,” he waved his hand, “island. Cosrosa?”

 

Hermione furrowed her brow and took the voucher from his hand, looking it over. _Cosrosa: La Perla della Sirena._ The Mermaid’s Pearl. She looked at the information brochure that accompanied the vouchers. Pink sands, turquoise waters, rainforests. Both magical and muggle accommodations. “Why the hell would Kingsley give us a trip to Italy?”

 

“Apparently the Italian Ministry is supplying it,” Harry said with a shrug as he dropped a sugar cube into his teacup.

 

“What did Ron say?” she asked, carefully not mentioning Ginny.

 

“The Weasleys are going on a holiday of their own this summer. Romania, to visit Charlie at the dragon sanctuary,” Harry replied, his voice strained. “I ran into Luna at the Ministry. She was providing testimony as well. Xenophilius is still a little withdrawn but doing well otherwise. I offered her the third position and she said she’d be delighted to go.”

 

“So, you’re going, then?” Hermione asked, running a single finger over the moving waves that crashed on rose-colored sands.

 

“Aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe this is what we need, ‘Mione. To just get away for a little while. Act our age. Who knows what a summer can bring?”

 

o-o-o

 

Draco Malfoy laid in his bed, his legs drawn as he rested on his side, staring at the rich emerald green wallpaper. He hadn’t really moved in weeks, other than to relieve himself, shower and slip into clean clothing every few days. A tea tray sat untouched on his nightstand and he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. The curtains were all drawn, leaving him in an emerald green, dim glow though it was midday. It reminded him of the Slytherin dungeons and soothed his aching soul.

 

It was nearing mid-June. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone, with him lying in the bed and refusing to acknowledge the letters delivered by various owls. He didn’t feel much like going out to celebrate. He’d seen the Nott, Zabini and Parkinson family owls perched on his windowsill time and again. Why wouldn’t they just take the hint?

 

His mother had tried, unsuccessfully, to pry him from his bed the day before. Draco had dealt with crippling loneliness since his sixth year, anxiety that others would buckle under. But this newfound depressive mood was nearly more than he could bear. He was tired all of the time and slept for days on end. He tried to tell himself it was because he was catching up on all of the sleep he’d missed out on after the Dark Lord had taken up residence in his home. But there was more to it than just exhaustion. He was moody, withdrawing into himself completely. His whole body ached at times and he had zero interest in leaving the Manor, or even his bedroom, to indulge in his freedom.

 

Draco traced his Mark for the millionth time since his trial. To his surprise, Harry Potter had testified on his behalf. He’d recounted to the entire world what a coward he’d been, refusing to acknowledge who he and his ragtag team of sidekicks were that day in the spring. Except, Potter didn’t call him a coward. No, he spun the tale as though Draco were _courageous_ to hesitate in identifying them. And the Wizengamot had eaten up Potter’s words like the Saint he was.

 

Little did Potter know of the inner turmoil Draco had gone through that day. He’d agonized internally on whether or not he should let his family know exactly who was sitting on his drawing room floor. If he positively identified them, his family would be held in high regard in the eyes of the Dark Lord. But if he lied, he would have had the time to formulate a plan to help Potter escape. The scar-headed prat was no use to the world if the Dark Lord killed him first. And Draco had long since lost his desire to live in a world where the megalomaniac ruled. His hesitation was entirely selfish. But Potter’s testimony, combined with the fact that all of the provable indiscretions he’d committed had taken place in his adolescence, had saved his arse. He’d managed to get by with little more than community service and a Ministry sanctioned “voluntary” donation of one-third of his inheritance to a charity of his choice.

 

He pulled his covers up closer to his head, burrowing himself in their warmth when a sharp knock sounded at the door. “For the love of Merlin’s saggy left tit, _go away, Mother!”_ he called forcefully.

 

There was a loud bang, and his previously locked door was blown from the hinges. Draco shot upright, looking incredulously at the source of such commotion. “Nott, what the fuck are you doing?” he asked, staring at the hulking form of his oldest friend.

 

Theo strode into the room as though it were his own, and Draco supposed, earlier in life, it practically had been. And behind him, the shorter, leaner frame of Blaise Zabini came slinking through the doorway. Blaise had the decency to look sheepish, while Theo tossed himself into Draco’s desk chair. “What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are _you_ doing, mate? We’ve been owling. We’ve been passed twice, and your mother says you aren’t taking guests.”

 

“I’m not,” Draco responded, flopping himself back into his bedding unceremoniously.

 

Blaise made his way to the French doors leading out to the balcony and tossed them open, a wave of his wand making quick work of every curtain in the room. Draco recoiled in the bright light and drew the covers over his head. “Draco, we know it’s been difficult for you—”

 

“My father received the Kiss less than a month ago. A fate I narrowly avoided,” he replied, his voice muffled by the covers.

 

“For fuck's sake, Malfoy. Quit acting like a petulant child,” Theo told him, using his wand to pry the covers forcefully off of Draco’s thin frame. “My father got the same treatment. And you _did_ avoid the Kiss.”

 

“You have no idea what it feels like, Nott. To make it through a War, to live under a psychopath’s thumb, only to be faced with your own mortality once more,” Draco told him, “and _put me down!”_

 

Theo was levitating him upright into a sitting position and waved his hand. “Bullshit. It’s done. It’s behind you now. And what does it tell the rest of the world, that you are hiding in your dark, dingy room instead of getting out there and showing them that you are not just some _Death Eater.”_

 

Blaise lifted a piece of molded bread with the tips of two fingers and then waved his wand to clear the tray from the room. “Theo’s right, mate. You need to get up and get out there. It’s been long enough.”

 

“It’s been five weeks.”

 

“It’s been long enough,” Theo reiterated Blaise’s sentiment. “Look. Wallowing in your own self-pity and,” he gestured to Draco’s disheveled hair, overgrown facial hair and three-day-old t-shirt, “filth will get you nowhere. People _died_ , Malfoy. And the best way to honor them is to put on your big boy knickers and put one foot in front of the other. You have a family name to save. You didn’t even get your arse to the memorial service at Hogwarts.”

 

He had Draco in a full body lock, levitating slightly over the bed. The blond glared at his two friends. Blaise had his arms crossed over his chest and leaned back on the desk next to Theo. “We’re heading to my home country. Pack your shit.”

 

“Italy? Why the _fuck_ would I go to Italy with you two arseholes?” Draco asked, already annoyed with their existence.

 

“Women,” Theo said, a grin spreading across his face.

 

“Women? Have you been day drinking, Nott? Pussy is the _last_ thing on my mind right now,” Draco told him, scrunching his face incredulously.

 

“Malfoy, listen. You are free. There is zero reason why you should be holing yourself up in here and feeling sorry for yourself. This behavior won’t bring any of them back. It won’t bring your father back,” Blaise told him while Theo nodded his agreement.

 

“I’m not saying it will. But should we really be chasing birds and living it up in Italy?”

 

“Better than lying in mourning for weeks on end. You’re allowed to move on, Draco,” Blaise told him. “It would be healthy to get away for a while. Breathe some clean air and take some time to yourself. You lived under duress for too long.”

 

“And what better way than to take a nice long stroll on the topless beaches of Cosrosa?” Theo told him, his grin turning positively wicked.

 

Draco looked at his two friends, wishing he could light them ablaze with nothing more than his stare. This was a terrible idea—what would it look like to the outside world if he went away and had a good time, despite the War ending only a month prior? Theo let him out of the bind and set him on the bed. “Your mother is worried about you, Draco. We all are. We’re all dealing with what happened, in our own ways. But this,” Theo gestured around the room, “is not healthy.”

 

The brunet wizard’s tone had softened some and Draco knew what he was saying was true. His mother had tried incessantly to get into his room, to speak to him. He’d yelled and ranted and raved incessantly until she left him to wallow. “You know, she lost her husband,” Theo said quietly. “You might try to speak to her and let her know that life can still go on.”

 

And just like that, Theo delivered the line that punched Draco right in the gut. “Fuck,” he sighed, running a hand through his mussed hair. _“Fuck.”_

“Yeah, mate. She was looking a little worse for the wear when we walked in. So, go take a shower, shave your face and put on something respectable and becoming of the House of Malfoy. I’ll get Lottie to fix you some lunch and let your mother know you’ll be down in thirty minutes for tea in the garden. Let her know you’re alright and be strong for her. She needs you to be the solid one right now, Draco,” Theo finished tenderly, the mood growing appropriately somber.

 

“After that, pack your shit. We leave by portkey tomorrow afternoon,” Blaise told him, opening his wardrobe. “And bring something to wear that isn’t black.”

 

Draco glared at him as he scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, standing up. He made his way into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He’d lost a little weight, but nothing dramatic. The change came more in his facial features--his face was gaunter, his cheekbones prominent. He had dark circles under his eyes from prolonged, addled sleep. His facial hair, never able to grow in thick and full, was spotty and ragged. He looked wholly unkempt. He stepped into the hot water, steaming all around him and began to lather himself, washing away some of his negativity so he could put on a brave face for his mother.

 

Italy. Maybe his two friends were right. Perhaps he needed to escape England, and the shadow of the War, for a little while. He needed to move forward, and he couldn’t if he kept dwelling on his past. Guilt niggled at the back of his brain—"survivor’s guilt” was the term being thrown around these days. He’d survived when so many others hadn’t. But Draco knew he wouldn’t have done anything differently if given the opportunity. He did what was necessary to keep he and his parents alive and he’d been successful on that front.

 

After shaving his face, he dressed into some fresh trousers and a simple grey button-down shirt. He brushed his hair for the first time in nearly a month and figured he’d better venture out that afternoon for a trim if he was leaving the country in the morning. As he slipped on his watch, completing his polished and handsome look, he leaned his forehead against the wardrobe door. In the morning, he was going to be exposed to the world, to people who couldn’t see past the Mark on his arm, to others who looked at him with pity or worse, sympathy.

 

He gave himself one last glance over in the mirror and decided he looked decent enough to face his mother. He padded down the stairs and out into the bright sunshine of the Manor’s gardens. Theo and Blaise were flanking the witch when he approached. They were right—his mother looked older than she ever had, and though there wasn’t a hair out of place, her lips were tight, and her eyes held more wrinkles than ever before. “Mother,” he greeted, bending to kiss her cheek.

 

She put a hand up and ran a thumb over his freshly shaved jaw. “Dragon,” she responded, giving him a watery smile.

 

Theo rose, tapping Blaise. “Narcissa, it’s been a pleasure catching up. We promise to write from Cosrosa,” he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek as well.

 

Blaise lifted her hand to his lips and bowed deeply to her. “Mother Malfoy. A pleasure, as always. Take care of yourself.”

 

“Boys. Keep an eye on my son. Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish,” she told them, causing Draco to roll his eyes. “And Theodore, go with Draco and get a haircut.”

 

Theo laughed and nodded, bowing to her and he and Blaise took their leave. Draco turned his attention to his mother and guilt bit through him once more. “Mother, I do not have to go with them, if you’d rather I stay here with you. You and I could go away. Perhaps to France?” he suggested as Lottie and Cala, two tiny female house elves, brought them a couple of sandwiches for lunch.

 

She waved her hand. “Draco. You need to go. Get away from here for a while. This house…it’s memories are oppressive.”

 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” he told her, pushing around the fresh vegetables on his plate.

 

His mother looked at him carefully over her teacup as she brought it to her lips. “This whole process has taken a lot out of you.”

 

“And you. Perhaps you more so than I.”

 

“I’m going to stay with Andromeda for a while. She owled me and said she was going to need help with Nymphadora’s boy, Teddy,” she told him sadly. “I didn’t want to leave you, but now that you’re going away for a while, I don’t feel so guilty.”

 

“Mother, I am a grown man. You could have gone regardless. You need to reconcile with Aunt Meda.”

 

Narcissa studied her son for a long moment, bringing her hand up to push his hair away from his forehead. “Draco, go and have fun. Keep an open mind and take time for yourself. You did so much for your father and me, and for that, I am eternally grateful. But the War is over and you made it through your trial with minimal repercussions. Focus on yourself. Heal. And perhaps, you’ll find a lovely witch?” she finished, a light teasing tone to her voice.

 

Draco didn’t have it in him to repeat his earlier sentiment about women to her. She had a hopeful smile on her face as she cupped his hand in her own. “Oh, dragon. You deserve happiness after so much turmoil. Perhaps you’ll find it in Italy.”

 

He very seriously doubted this, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to remind his mother that the Malfoy name was tarnished, and he’d floundered for the last five weeks instead of trying to do anything about it.

 

Perhaps they were all right—maybe he could find himself on the rosy shores of Italy.

 

o-o-o

  


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

 

“I really don’t understand why we are doing this, Harry,” Hermione complained, lugging two suitcases into the sitting room by the floo.

 

“Because Hermione. The Italian Ministry so graciously provided this holiday for us and we don’t want to be rude. Also, we can get away from flashing cameras and Rita Skeeter for a while,” he replied with a mimicked shudder.

 

The fireplace roared to life and Luna Lovegood stepped out, her hair cropped short and adorned with a large flower, a flowy turquoise dress bringing out the color of her eyes. Harry leaned in and touched cheeks with her. “Luna. Have everything you need?” he asked, eyeing the simple bag she carried.

 

“Of course. It’s all in here,” she said, placing a hand over her bag. “Hermione…you look lovely in pink,” she told the brunette, smiling widely.

 

Hermione mumbled her thanks and shrank hers and Harry’s luggage. Stowing it all in her own beaded bag, she marveled at how much simpler it was to travel as a witch than a muggle. “Did you bring half the books in London to keep you company?” Luna asked her and there was no sense of teasing in her words.

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “A quarter of them, actually.”

 

Luna laughed lightly. “Are we ready to head out, then?” Harry asked, handing them each their vouchers.

 

“I can’t wait to study the light-ended narlywoggles!” Luna exclaimed excitedly, and Harry laughed while Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile.

 

Harry unwrapped a seashell and held it in his hand—the international portkey. He held it out and looked at the two witches. “To new beginnings in Italy,” he said, hovering one fingertip over the shell.

 

“To new beginnings,” the girls mimicked and the three of them touched the shell at the same time.

 

When they landed, they were standing in the middle of a beach. The sand was the loveliest shade of blush, with turquoise shores blending into clear water over the sand. The two colors created the prettiest contrast she had ever laid eyes on. It was warm here, the sun beating down on them pleasantly. A breeze blew in off the water, ruffling Hermione’s long, flowing coral dress and playing with her curls. Along the other side ran a series of bright and cheery multicolored villas built into a cliffside. They were layered, some places five stories high, in some places only two.

 

Around them, people were moseying about. A few women without tops went past and Harry’s eyes grew wide as he averted them to a safe place in the sand. Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink as the sand and Luna looked decidedly happy to be there, seeming not to notice the topless beachgoers. “Let’s go get settled in,” Harry said after clearing his throat and leading them to the open-aired atrium of the largest building.

 

Hermione glanced around as Harry navigated the talking. She could certainly see why the island’s nickname was the Mermaid’s Pearl. It was beautiful, almost ethereally, mind-blowingly so. But beyond where they were standing in a breezy welcoming center, there was a forest covered hillside, wild and unkempt. A little rough and bumpy around the edges, just like a genuine pearl.

 

Harry handed them each a slip of paper with the passwords to get into their rooms. “I’m on the other side of the resort,” he told them, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. “Luna, you’re right there in that orange colored one. And ‘Mione, you’re second to last, in the greenish one.”

 

The girls each took their keys and passwords. “Do you want to meet back here and head down to dinner in say…an hour?” he asked as Hermione handed him his shrunken luggage.

 

“Sure,” Luna said happily.

 

“I’ll be there,” Hermione confirmed.

 

Hermione walked slowly toward her private villa. She slipped off her sandals and stowed them in her beaded bag, relishing the feel of the fine sand between her toes. She stretched her arms up above her head and languidly breathed in the salty air. The humidity and salt were working on her curls, expanding them about her head. A small smile spread across her lips as she bunched the curls and mussed them about. Perhaps the Golden Girl _could_ let her hair down this summer.

 

Hermione arrived at a stucco villa, colored in the most charming shade of chartreuse. A flower box rested in the window and brightly colored flowers sprouted forth. Inside was a corridor of sorts leading forward to two different suites. Her suite was on the second floor and as she climbed the stairs, there were moving photographs of the waves crashing along the beach, of a boat rocking in the breeze and one of what appeared to be a typhoon destroying the islands shore over and over again. The last photo garnered a little eyebrow quirk as she stopped in front of her door. She leaned against the sun-bleached oak and whispered her password, _“Tangerine trees.”_

 

Hermione stepped into a brightly colored, aesthetically pleasing suite. It was decorated with Italian island flair, all white wicker and glass top tables covered with shells and candles. There was a set of French doors to the side of the sitting room, open to reveal a bleached white stucco patio. She glanced around and saw that there was only one window that could possibly see down to this balcony and made a mental note to watch that window for signs of someone staying there. This patio was perfect for sunbathing in her swimsuit. _Or a lack thereof,_ she thought as the topless women on the beach flashed through her mind once more.

 

Inside, there was a quaint little kitchenette—large enough to make tea or a small meal if she felt like being anti-social. But it was the bedroom that nearly made her fall out—the crowning jewel on top of an already appealing residence. The bed was gigantic—large enough to fit half a quidditch team, at least, and covered with a bright turquoise duvet. It contrasted beautifully against the hand-woven white wicker and she let out a squeal and jumped face first onto the puffy bedding.

 

This place was the exact getaway Hermione never knew she needed but suddenly wanted. She rolled onto her side and saw the door to the bathroom was open. Letting out another unearthly and uncharacteristic screech, she went into the bathroom and grinned as she looked around. There was a massively deep tub to one side, a large brass tap arching over one side. A stand-alone shower took up one entire corner, encased in glass with showerheads all over the place, ensuring not an inch would go without water at any given time. The sink basin was made of turquoise colored glass and was shallowly filled with tepid water. A set of hand-towels were twisted into the shapes of flamingos, magically moving and wading in the water.

 

The entire suite was overwhelmingly charming, and she instantly regretted telling Harry she would meet him for dinner. She wanted nothing more than to lounge in that massive bed and crack open a good book. Hermione sighed and enlarged her luggage to begin unpacking the muggle way, neatly folding and stowing her clothing in the chest of drawers and wardrobe.

 

Despite her earlier reluctance to head to the island, she felt herself relaxing involuntarily. There was a spot of guilt nagging at the back of her head, that she had the audacity to be here when Tonks, Lupin, Fred and the others had all perished. Should she be enjoying herself so soon? The funeral pyres and services had finally ended a couple of weeks prior and her mourning dress was neatly tucked away. But should she be in Italy, enjoying herself while so many families—like her adoptive Weasley family—were still reeling over their losses?

 

Hermione bit her lip as her mind contemplated this. The voices of each individual clearly rang in her head. Fred would be chiding her for being so morose when there was fun to be had and mischief to get up to. Tonks would be encouraging her to get out there and find herself a beautiful Italian gent. Lupin would be discussing the reasoning behind the pink sands. Dobby would be thrilled to be able to sport a pair of swim trunks. She drew in a deep breath, trying to tamp down the memories of her fallen friends.

 

Hermione knew that she needed to move forward. The lifeless eyes of her friends haunted her each night. None of them would ever be able to move forward if they did not make the conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other each day.

Italy would be a nice reset to her life, a way to proceed without the weight of England’s oppressive emotional atmosphere around her. She was heading back to Hogwarts in September and knew she needed to rest before facing that hallowed place once more.

 

Once everything was put away in an orderly fashion, Hermione moved to the mirror in the bathroom to try and make herself a little more presentable. Her hair was three times its normal volume from the salt air. She plaited it loosely, the curls adding a charming feel to the braid and framing her face. Her skin was pale, and she looked forward to getting some sun. She dragged on some pale pink lippy and straightened her coral-colored dress once more. It was a halter that tied at the base of her neck and plunged slightly lower than she would allow back home before it flowed around her legs all the way to the floor around her feet.

 

She retrieved her sandals and bag and made her way out to see her two friends. The sun was beginning to set and cast a pale tangerine glow over the entire island. The breeze had kicked up and her dress billowed and puffed about her legs. It was an addictive feel—the smell of the ocean and the feel of the sea spray and breeze ruffling her usually polished persona. Harry and Luna were already waiting for her in front of the atrium.

 

“There’s an open-air restaurant just that way,” Harry said, pointing in the direction of his villa.

 

He was wearing a simple buttoned shirt and a pair of shorts, his pale legs jutting out almost comically. Luna had changed into a short electric blue dress with purple ruffles and had tousled her short hair. She looked like a strangely cute little pixie. The three set off for the restaurant and found a large area under a massive thatched roof. There were giant fans circulating air and no matter where one looked, the ocean was visible beyond the structure’s open sides. The smell of grilling meat made Hermione’s mouth water and she knew she had found nirvana when she saw an open buffet of every fruit imaginable.

 

They made their way to a table in the corner and a waiter arrived with a pushcart of various alcoholic beverages. “When in Rome, right? Or in this case…Cosrosa,” Harry said, taking a drink that was the strangest shade of yellow, pink and red ombre.

 

o-o-o

 

Draco, Blaise and Theo landed in the atrium of some kind of welcoming center and Theo pocketed their seashell portkey. Blaise did all of the talking for the three of them, putting his charm on the concierge as he spoke to her in silky Italian. Draco rolled his eyes—on the island for all of five minutes and already Blaise was working the room.

 

He walked to the open window and glanced out over the ocean, watching a few brilliantly colored rowboats sway in the breeze. The sky was growing darker as the evening was nigh, streaks of gold and red causing the water to sparkle incandescently. It was far too cheery, and he had no intention of venturing out more than necessary. “Come on, mate. The sooner we change into more island-appropriate attire, the sooner we can begin enjoying the island,” Theo said as he wiped a bead of sweat from his own forehead and clapped a hand on Draco’s back.

 

The three wizards stepped out into the warmth of the beach and Draco’s freshly cropped hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, the feel of it causing him to close his eyes for a brief moment. Before them, a group of sinfully attractive women strode past, wearing little more than small triangles of fabric below the waist, scarcely large enough to cover the essentials. _“Così tante belle donne ma così poco tempo,”_ Blaise said, his knees buckling dramatically as he lamented the lack of time to address all of these beautiful women.

 

Theo looked on at the sight in awed reverence for a few moments, the sight of the women’s bare arse cheeks nearly as satisfying as their bouncing chests. He turned and punched Draco in the arm. “I fucking _told you_ , mate,” he said excitedly.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at a mocha-skinned brunette that strode past, her bathing suit top almost pointless. She gave him a smoldering look and a blazing smile, and his gaze followed her as she walked away, a small smile tugging at his lips. He may not have been in the frame of mind to get wrapped up in some witch, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the display.

 

“I’m heading up to my room,” he told the other two, turning to head in the direction of his suite.

 

“Let’s head on down to dinner. Meet back in ten,” Blaise told them, smacking Theo’s chest as his eyes stayed, unwavering, on a witch that strolled past.

 

They went their own ways and Draco ambled to the end of the row. His villa was a sunny yellow color, nestled between cobalt and chartreuse. His accommodations were on the fifth floor, up a winding staircase. A brassy ‘6’ adorned an ancient looking red door. Grumbling his password, _“Marmalade skies,”_ he stepped into a brightly decorated suite and wrinkled his nose at the sight. As everything else on this island had been thus far, it was entirely too jaunty for his liking, all white and crisp. The blond rolled his eyes and went into the bedroom. The bed was smaller than his own back at the Manor, the duvet a dismal shade of red.

 

Draco tossed his matchbox sized trunk onto the bed to unpack later and went to check his image in the mirror. He had taken a pepper-up potion before they left, and he looked significantly less vampiric, his dark under-eye circles dissipating and his cheeks brightening into a healthier pallor. His long fingers ran through his hair to tousle it in a way he knew the witches in Slytherin House had always liked and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt—a simple white shirt since his usual black had been vetoed. Might as well look presentable even if he wasn’t trying to get a date—make the ladies swoon. Draco rolled his eyes at the thought and shook his head to himself. Who the fuck would want to be with a disgraced ex-Death Eater? Perhaps he’d have to venture to the muggle end of the island, get a taste of the fruits so long forbidden to him.

 

“Come the fuck on, Malfoy,” Theo said through clenched teeth when Draco greeted him outside of a tangerine-colored building.

 

“Stifle yourself, Nott. I was trying to make myself less—” he waved a hand over his more casual look.

 

“Like the living dead?” Theo supplied, leading them over pink sands toward where Blaise was exiting his building.

 

The three men made their way to the restaurant and Draco noticed that, though plenty of women were staring, as well as a few jealous men, there wasn’t anyone staring with contempt in their eyes. Only burning curiosity and a heated desire, likely fueled by the sultry Italian setting.

 

They stepped up onto the platform where tables were laid out before them. Theo and Draco were used to more refined restaurants that required reservations and bags full of galleons, so Blaise took the dive and selected a table for them before heading to the bar and ordering the largest bottle of rum he could obtain. Draco sighed, feeling sweaty and agitated already, the novelty of lovely tits being in his face nonstop wearing off quickly. There was a bed practically calling his name, a crippling depressive mood gnawing at his brain to be indulged. Blaise spent more time than Draco cared for chatting with the bartender, the blond wanting nothing more than to dive head first into a glass of rum. With an impatient huff, he made his way to a long row of fresh fruits.

 

As he reached for the tongs to retrieve a strawberry, a dainty hand shot out from the other side, reaching for the same utensil. “Oh, sorry.”

 

The British accent caught his attention and his eyes darted up over the glass guards. And the sight of the voice’s source nearly gave him an aneurysm right there in Cosrosa. Hermione Granger was standing there, her hand halfway to the strawberry tongs, her mouth hanging open in abject horror at the sight of him.

 

“Granger?” he managed.

 

“Malfoy,” her lamentation came out as a near groan.

 

Fuck. Even eighteen hundred miles from home, there was no escaping the War or his past. What kind of fucked up, serendipitous, bullshit meeting was this that the Fates had so cruelly cursed him with? “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, and nearly cringed at the incredulous venom in his tone.

 

Granger raised her eyebrows. “The Italian Ministry supplied a holiday for us. What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Us?” he asked, and he _did_ groan when he laid eyes on Potter and Lovegood. “For fuck’s sake. Saint Potter and Loony Lovegood.”

 

She glared at him and placed a hand on her hip. He turned his attention back to her, noting that the petite witch didn’t look nearly as fierce with her short stature as she clearly _thought_ she did. “You have a lot of nerve after everything Harry did for you.”

 

 _Right to the sucker punch in the gut, then_. “I spoke with Potter after the trial and thanked him. What more do you want?”

 

“Perhaps a remorseful tone. Or, at least, a less biting one. I’m not your enemy anymore—or haven’t you heard? The War is over and it’s time to _get along_ ,” she addressed him, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

 

“I’ve been a prick for eighteen years and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. And you are still a prissy little know-it-all, with too-bushy hair and self-righteousness on your lips. So, I guess I’m not the only one in need of a transformation in personality,” he told her, using his wand to levitate strawberries to his plate rather than waiting for her to finish retrieving hers.

 

She looked up at him, leaning forward on the bar between them, angling herself closer to him by a margin. “Stay away from us, Malfoy.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Trust me. You are the last person I want to spend my summer with, Granger,” he told her, turning on his heel to stalk moodily away from her, his mind reeling.

 

o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

 

“Potter, Granger, and Lovegood are here,” Draco announced to his fellow Slytherins as he sat stiffly in his seat.

 

The two men’s eyes shot up to look first at him and then to where he nodded. “What are they doing here?” Blaise asked as the three men looked to the Gryffindor infested table.

 

Granger was clearly telling her friends the same because Potter turned around and the two girls looked from around him in their direction. Granger glared, Potter looked confused, and Lovegood gave them a smile and a wave. Theo sniggered and waved back. “Apparently the Italian Ministry is lavishing them with gifts,” Draco mentioned, his tone only slightly bitter.

 

“Come on,” Theo said, grabbing his alcohol and plate and rising.

 

“What? Where are you going?” Draco asked quickly, not even remotely in the mood to interact with two-thirds of the Golden Trio and their strange sidekick.

 

“Stop being difficult, Malfoy,” Theo admonished as though he were a child.

 

Blaise clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s right. The War is over. We should try to make amends.”

 

“How can you hold a grudge here? Do I need to take you back out for another dose of the sights on the beach?” Theo asked him, nudging his shin to get him moving.

 

Draco stood reluctantly. “You think they even want us near them? Granger literally told me to _stay the fuck away from them._ ”

 

“Probably because you were being a bastard. Now come on,” Blaise told him, nudging him in the direction of the Gryffindor’s table.

 

“You assume instantly that _I_ was the arsehole,” Draco muttered under his breath.

 

“Weren’t you though?” Blaise countered, diligently ignoring the blonde’s petulance.

 

The blond groaned loudly and followed Theodore’s hulking stature to where the three other former Hogwarts’ students sat, staring at them as they approached. “Can we sit here, Potter?” Theo asked, gesturing to the table’s three empty chairs.

 

Granger was staring directly at Draco as Potter shrugged and nodded. The look she gave him was as though he were an unwelcome blast-ended skrewt, come to ruin her meal. He sat unceremoniously next to her, watching her from the corner of his eyes as she turned her attention to the other two Slytherins. “Blaise. Theodore. A pleasure to see you,” she remarked cordially, her stiff politeness while ignoring his presence at the table making Draco scoff.

 

She seemed to bristle with anger. Theo leaned forward on the table. “Granger. Can’t say we’ve ever held a conversation, but it _is_ nice to see someone familiar so far from home. What are you three doing here?”

 

“The same as you, I’m certain,” she replied, and Draco watched as her back stiffened primly and she took a long pull of sangria.

 

Potter leaned back in his chair and draped an arm around her shoulders. _Curious_. Draco raised an eyebrow at the pair. “Where’s the Weasel?”

 

“Which one?” Potter asked, and he let out a chuckle as Granger elbowed him in the ribs.

 

“Harry!”

 

He shrugged, giving the curly-haired witch a sly grin. “The Weasleys are visiting Charlie—the dragon tamer—in Romania for the summer holidays.”

 

“You sound as though there’s trouble in Golden paradise,” Theo remarked, popping a bit of melon into his mouth.

 

Potter shrugged noncommittally once more. “No trouble. Hermione and I are just the Weasley’s Outcasts these days.”

 

“Their loss,” Luna supplied, pocketing the umbrella straw from her drink, to what end Draco couldn’t begin to surmise.

 

“Weasel’s loss indeed. That dress looks positively stunning on you, Granger,” Theo told her with a wink, sipping from his liquor.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. With the War behind them, it would appear Theo’s incessant flirtations would be extended to all women, not just the prissy Slytherin princesses he was more accustomed to. He followed Theo’s line of sight and saw a light blush creep up her chest, blooming within the low dip in the neckline of her dress. A small voice in the back of his mind nearly screamed that is _was_ quite the sight to behold.

 

So, neither the Chosen One nor his illustrious bushy-haired side kick were currently seeing their redheaded counterparts? That would explain the ease with which Potter leaned into Granger possessively as he spoke to Blaise and Theo companionably. “How dreadfully incompetent you must feel, to be dumped by _Weasleys_ ,” Draco deadpanned, garnering a kick from Theo and an icy glare from her.

 

“I don’t see witches tossing themselves at _your_ feet, ferret,” she retorted, sounding as though he’d ruffled her feathers a bit.

 

“Well, not many women want a Death Eater gone turncoat nestled between their legs, wouldn’t you agree?” he shot back and felt a twinge of satisfaction at the surprised look on her face as her eyebrows rose toward her hairline.

 

Theo’s grin was wide enough to nearly split his face as he relished the verbal sparring between the two individuals. Draco nearly wanted to hex that stupid look off his friend’s face. He turned his attention back to the witch alongside him, refusing to give her the satisfaction of embarrassing him—if there were to be jabs about his jaded past, they would come from him directly. His mood began to grow increasingly sullener with every moment that passed, Granger’s eyes nearly cutting him in two.

 

Draco felt he had very little to apologize for where the War was concerned. He had done what he felt in his heart necessary to save his parents and himself during the War. It was not always a pleasant venture, being a Death Eater—more often than not he was writhing on his _own_ floor, just as Granger had because he had failed the Dark Lord in some way. Looking at her, his mind’s eye could clearly see her face screwed up in abject anguish, her jaw clenched as she refused to give in to his Aunt Bellatrix.

 

He finally turned his gaze from her and she gave a smug, contrite smirk and sat back in her chair, her foot grazing his shin as she kicked her foot once, twice. Draco got the urge to wipe that grin right off her face by any means necessary, but instead, he clenched and unclenched his jaw as he stared out over the ocean beyond. Theo just _had_ to drag them to this table—and for what? So he could peep down Granger’s dress, chit-chat, and pretend they all had something in common? Sometimes the brunet wizard’s smooth and extroverted ways wore on Draco’s already frayed nerves.

 

“Blaise, I’m sure you’re glad to be back on home soil after the rainy bleakness back in the UK?” Lovegood asked, swiftly changing the subject as she felt the tension nearly suffocating them.

 

The Italian grinned and looked quite pleased with her attempts. “I am. I hadn’t been back to Italy in years. I’d almost forgotten, in the midst of the darkness back home, how _beautiful_ everything here was.”

 

“It’s certainly something. I’d never been anywhere on a real holiday before today, so I guess you could say it’s a bit of a culture shock,” the bespectacled git remarked.

 

Draco rolled his eyes at the stiff cordiality that hung between them all. “When are we just going to address the fucking hippogriff in the room?” he bit out, looking directly at Granger as he spoke.

 

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she steeled herself for a row and Draco angled toward her, extending his leg past hers in a way that put him right within her personal space—better to make her squirm, he reckoned. Potter frowned at Draco’s harsh tone but said nothing. “For fuck’s sake, Malfoy. We couldn’t even get through dinner?” Theo said, putting his fork down forcefully.

 

Draco leaned forward in his chair, his own food forgotten, his back to his longtime friend. “Let’s not sit here and pretend that we are all best mates simply because the Ministry is trying to force that “forgiveness and forging ahead” bullshit down our throats back home. We all know that we are enemies and we have been for years.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Granger piped up.

 

“Weren’t you the one who just told me to stay away from you?” he challenged the curly-haired witch, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Putting on airs in front of your friends as though you weren’t brash towards me just a few moments ago? So, which is it, Granger? You want me to keep away or shall we hold hands and skip into the sunset?”

 

His knee brushed hers and she recoiled quickly at the contact. The mere touch of his denim against her linen set his entire leg ablaze, and there was a moment of sheer terror that flooded through him. Why should this swotty little witch cause such a reaction within him? She pursed her lips in the most irritating manner as she formulated an answer. “If you would lose the abrasive attitude, perhaps one could tolerate being around you for any length of time.”

 

“I spoke for you at your trial,” Potter reminded him agitatedly.

 

“Yes, I’m well aware, Potter. I’ve thanked you for that. But we don’t need to sit around and bullshit like we’re going to make amends and move forward, simply because we’re in another country.”

 

“Why are you so contrary?” Granger asked him, her expressive eyes narrowing on him.

 

“Why are you so obtusely naïve?” he spat back, feeling months of pent-up anger beginning to well within him as he watched her magic crackle about her curls.

 

“At least the two of you seem to be making an effort to be congenial,” Granger remarked to the other two wizards seated across from her.

 

With that, Granger stood and put a hand to Potter’s shoulder. “I’m going up to bed. It’s been an unreasonably difficult day,” she announced, looking over her shoulder at Draco once more, the sparkle in her eye dangerously appealing to him.

 

He watched her walk away, the breeze ruffling her dress as she swept from the open-air restaurant. The little bint certainly got under Draco’s skin like bamboo shards under his toenails. But damn if it hadn’t sent a small thrill through his nerve synapses to have someone challenge him, to match his snarkiness toe to toe. Despite his abysmal mood, his lips curved into the slightest of smiles until he watched her disappear beyond the closest villa.

 

Upon turning his attention back to the rest of the table, he found the three wizards and the scatterbrained witch staring at him. Potter was frowning once more as Lovegood nabbed the straw umbrella from his drink, and his two friends were looking at him in a manner that made his insides turn and his fist ball up on his thigh. “What the hell was that?” Theo asked him, gesturing in the direction Granger had just disappeared.

 

Draco shrugged. _What was that, indeed?_ Just that brief exchange with the witch had left his mind reeling and had awoken the fiery little dragon within him more than anything else had since the second of May.“It’s not my fault she gets so easily riled up,” he settled on.

 

“Perhaps her nerves have been a little frayed since we watched our friends die?” Potter chimed in, giving him an exasperated look.

 

“I was there, too, that day,” the blond answered, the strange elation he’d felt when sparring with Granger completely dissipating.

 

“Some of us are mentally trying to move forward from that day, Malfoy. You did what you thought you had to, we did what we had to. Suffice to say, I don’t think everyone here needs the reminders over their dinner plates anymore,” Potter told him, rubbing a hand over his scar.

 

“He’s right, mate. We’re in Italy, the most beautiful country in the entire world. Brimming with the most attractive witches in the world,” Theo told him. “Why not act like the eighteen-year-old you are? Not the sixteen-year-old you were?”

 

The truth was, Draco had no idea _how_ to act anymore. He could scarce be the entitled little prat he’d once been—his family surname had been dragged through the mud with the trials and his father’s subsequent sentencing. His own _lack_ of sentencing, for that matter. But they couldn’t honestly expect him to sit around and break bread with his longtime foes? What interests could be so similar, they would find a common ground?

 

Blaise and Theo were his best mates and had been for life. But even they had very little empathy for what he was going through. Neither of them had been forced to become monsters, to fight against what he knew to be right simply because the threat of death lingered like the metallic taste of blood in one’s mouth. And the optimistic buffoons sitting across from him certainly didn’t know what it was like to make tough decisions. They had fought for the Light and saved the whole bleeding world from further turmoil.

 

In that moment, Draco felt utterly alone in the world and it was not a feeling he readily welcomed. Even in a new nation, with very few people seemingly judging him, he was out of place. It was as though he were standing on the outside staring in at the new dynamic being forged between the ragtag group of classmates.

 

The troubled wizard rose and stalked away from the chittering group, their laughter dying down behind him as they watched him go. It took every ounce of self-control he contained not to get the portkey and head home to resume his position in bed. He ambled toward his villa, the warm sea spray playing across his face. As his lungs took in a few deep breaths of the salt air, he tried to allow the soothing scent to calm his emotions.

 

The waves crashed lazily to his left and when he neared the end of the rowhouses, he turned to look out over the vast expanse of sea. He plopped down into the rosy colored sand removing his shoes to dig his toes into the grains, draping his arms over his knees. The breeze played at his soft hair and the blond drew a heavy sigh.

 

His thoughts wandered to Granger, how strangely his own body had betrayed him when he caught sight of that pretty blush played across her chest and the soft swells of exposed breasts. Confusion rattled him at the surge of furor he had experienced when he was able to draw a rise out of her. Her muggle-born status was of little consequence to him, but Draco knew he absolutely should not be having those thoughts and experiencing those traitorous emotions when thinking of the Golden Girl.

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione huffed as she pulled her sleeping gown over her head. _Malfoy._ Who the hell did he think he was? The Malfoys had, as he so bluntly put it, _turned-coat_ and come to the Light just as the War was creeping toward the crescendo. He was a free man. _All thanks to Harry’s kind heart and unending gratitude._ What she couldn’t understand, as she mulled over their quarrel, was why he was still acting so peevish.

 

Sure, his father had received the Kiss. And she could carry a minute granule of sympathy for how that must make Malfoy feel. But he was acting discomfited and angry, his personality positively venomous. Hermione had a hard time trying to discern where the scared boy who’d lowered his wand in the face of assassination ended and the bitter and crass individual he was now began.

 

It rubbed her the wrong way that his eyes held a hollowed haunted quality, even when he appeared to be enjoying how he riled her up. He would never admit it, and neither would she, truthfully, but she knew he’d felt the crackling energy between them just as clearly as she did. There was a mutual appreciation for the other’s charismatic and stubborn sarcasm, a jolt of electricity at being able to elicit a reactive quip from the other.

 

The witch climbed into her bed, sliding her bare legs in between crisp and cool sheets. With a wave of her wand, the windows along the wall and the French doors leading to the balcony opened. The sound of the ocean beyond the villas was a dull roar in her ears as she lifted a book in front of her face.

 

It surprised her when the image of Malfoy flashed in her brain, just as he had looked at Easter. She could clearly see the look he’d given her when she glanced in his direction, fat tears running down her face and soaking into her curls like a sponge as she silently pleaded for his aunt’s unrelenting Cruciatus Curses to come to an end. He had looked scared out of his wit’s end, almost painfully apologetic and pleading with her. Pleading for what, she’d never gotten the opportunity to ask him.

 

He had held that same hollowed, haunted look back then as he held this evening. How long had it been since he had done something simply because he enjoyed it? With a dark chuckle, she thought of him trying to play exploding snaps while Voldemort sat in the room next door, only a wall separating Malfoy from the darkest wizard known to mankind. No. She was certain he hadn’t enjoyed the villain’s residency in his home. And that was likely a cold and calculated move on his leader’s part.

 

Hermione held no true desire to befriend Malfoy, but even she could admit that his carefully guarded and edgy countenance was intriguing. Surely, he couldn’t be so prickly all the way down to his core? Buried deep within him, there had to be some semblance of the frightened man he’d been two months prior, looking pained and scandalized at the torture she’d endured. Someone truly malevolent would have looked on with a blank face, or perhaps a sneer, not horror or apologetic reluctance as he did.

 

Could Malfoy possibly shed his caustic façade long enough to let that empathic creature within him show its face?

 

o-o-o


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

 

“What do you think of Granger?” Blaise asked the table at large the next morning.

 

Theo’s head popped up as he took a bite of fruit, a mock look of consideration on his face. He swallowed his bite and pointed to Draco with his fork. “I think it’s pretty evident that she gets Draco’s wand in a knot.”

 

The blond narrowed his eyes in a glare at his friend. “How do you figure that?” he asked with an air of nonchalance.

 

 Draco had sat for a long while on the shore after leaving the table the night before. The thought had certainly crossed—and clouded—his mind that he quite enjoyed watching the embers of a smoldering fire spark in her eyes as she stared him down, her words biting and forceful. But he would never admit aloud to his friends that he had found the witch intriguing and welcomed the challenge she had brought.

 

“Oh, please, Malfoy. Spare us. The entire table witnessed the two of you going at it,” Theo told him, rolling his eyes.

 

Blaise sniggered at Theo’s choice of words. “He’s right, amico. You’ve been sad and hiding away in that big bed of yours in the Manor. We haven’t you that roused since fifth year.”

 

Draco tried desperately to ignore the implications of what his friends were telling him. Never before had he ever took the time to actually speak to her. He couldn’t deny that she had met each quip with one equally as cutting and feisty. He had certainly enjoyed getting a rise out of her. “Perhaps she just irritates me that much more than everyone else. With her imperious attitude and holier-than-thou approach to speaking to us all.”

 

“Well, mate, you might want to stifle down those feelings. Because she’s heading this way,” Blaise told him, tucking into his breakfast.

 

Draco’s eyes snapped to the deck leading up to the open-air eating hall. Sure enough, Granger was ascending the stairs, flanked by Potter and Lovegood. She was wearing a white sundress that contrasted distractingly with legs that were already tanned. Her hair was piled in a curly bun atop of her head, but it looked artfully messy, little tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Where the hell did Granger come off looking that delectable?

 

Draco scowled at her as she took the seat directly across from him, giving him an equally glowering look. Potter draped an arm around the back of her chair and waved his wand toward the breakfast bar, assembling a plate from afar. “So, are we going out on the river today, then?” he asked, looking between the three Slytherins.

 

 _On the river?_ “What in the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?” he demanded, dragging his gaze from where Granger’s full bottom lip was nestled between her teeth.

 

“There are boat rentals along the shore. There’s a river that runs through a tunnel, straight through that mountainside,” Blaise explained.

 

“That sounds delightful,” Granger chimed in, though she didn’t look at all thrilled at the idea.

 

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please, Granger. Picture yourself in a boat on a river.”

 

Her eyes looked up from the washed wood surface of the table to his, a queer smile tugging at her lips. “With tangerine trees and marmalade skies?”

 

 _Marmalade skies._ At the mentioning of the password to his suite, he narrowed his eyes at her. “What the fuck did you just say?”

 

“Ah, so they got to you, too, then?” Potter asked, laughing at some apparent joke. “Newspaper taxis,” he proclaimed, pointing to himself.

 

Granger let out a laugh that was all too pleasant and raised an eyebrow at Draco. “Can someone tell me what is so bloody funny?” he asked, feeling angered by their nonchalance in whatever game it was they were playing.

 

“It’s the lyrics to a Muggle song,” Potter explained.

 

What nonsensical bullshit for Muggles to sing about. Skies of marmalade? Newspaper taxis? What in the bleeding hell was a taxi? “Anyway,” Theo began, looking slightly puzzled himself, “We’re heading out to take a little ride along the river. Granger, you can always share my boat,” he told her with a wink.

 

Granger looked ruffled by Theo’s attention—she’d never had reason to be subject to his incessantly flirtatious ways during their time at Hogwarts. Now that Theo and Blaise were trying to make amends with the three others, she didn’t seem to be able to make head or tits of their behavior. It almost made Draco laugh, the quizzical look on her face as she tried to solve the riddle. Potter seemed well at ease around the others, though he kept a steady eye on Draco. As if Draco would just reclaim the old ways and Avada everyone at the breakfast table. It almost made the blond want to pull his wand and send a sharp stinging hex at the scar-headed idiot. Lovegood was vexingly cheery as ever, peeling an orange and stowing the rinds in her bag.

 

“Actually, you all go on. There is a library over on the Muggle side of the island—I think I’ll just head there,” she told them.

 

“That sounds like a _splendid_ idea,” Draco said, pushing his plate away.

 

“I wasn’t inviting you to accompany me,” Granger hissed at him.

 

“Hermione—that’s rather rude,” Luna chirped, smiling widely as she looked to the other witch. “When a handsome man endeavors to accompany you somewhere unfamiliar, it might be best to take him up on the offer.”

 

Granger rose from the table and leaned toward where Draco was sitting. He refused to look down to where her cleavage was in plain view, instead holding her steady gaze. “Let me know when you find a handsome man, Luna.”

 

And with that, she stalked away, her footfall so quick, her dress bounced off the backs of her thighs in a way that had Theo watching her go. Draco would be damned if he would let her talk to him like that—this was far from settled. “That little bint. You all go on your godforsaken boats. I quite fancy a good book to read,” he told them.

 

“Stay away from her, Malfoy. She doesn’t need you harassing her,” Potter told him, also standing.

 

Theo put a hand to stifle the raven-haired wizard. “Calm down, Potter. Malfoy would never hurt her. Especially not out in the open—and we can certainly see she wouldn’t go anywhere private with him.”

 

“I don’t want him near her. All you’re going to do is instigate an argument and set her back in her mental healing,” he said, rounding his attention back to Draco.

 

“I have a feeling Draco will be the one hexed by the end of the day,” Blaise offered with a smirk.

 

“Calm down. I’m just going to walk to the library and then I’ll leave her be. I want nothing to do with her either,” Draco told him, his feet carrying him after the white dot of Granger’s dress in the distance.

 

She had put some distance between them and Draco slipped off his shoes and jogged over the sand to catch up to her. “So, tell me, Granger, if Muggles write songs about skies made of marmalade, what kind of books could we expect to find? Grass made of licorice? A river of chocolate?”

 

The petite witch stopped her stride when she heard his voice from behind her and she turned on heel to look at him. “What do you _want_ , Malfoy? Can’t you just leave me be?”

 

“I enjoy reading. You are heading in the direction of the library. You can hardly blame me for going in the same direction,” he argued, pushing past her and bumping her shoulder.

 

He gave a self-satisfied smirk as she stood, rooted to the spot and staring after him. There was the sound of sand shuffling under bare feet and he felt a hand reach out and grab his left arm, forcefully turning him around. The blemish on his arm tingled under her fingertips as they dug into him. Granger stepped right into his personal space and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I don’t know what kind of game you are trying to play, Malfoy. You and I are not friends—”

 

“You don’t say. I’ve never been assaulted by a friend,” he said, taking a commanding hold her of her hand to pull it away from his chest.

 

“What do you want from me? To taunt me? Call me a Mudblood? Flash your Mark to intimidate me? I hate to break it to you, but you lost. I don’t believe for one second that you’ve changed, no matter what Harry said at your trial.”

 

Draco dropped her hand and took a step back, anger flowing through him like cruciatus licks through his veins. “Have I said anything disparaging about your blood since I saw you yesterday?”

 

“Not yet, but—”

 

“No. This is not a question that needs a drawn-out answer. It is a yes or no question.”

 

“No, but—”

 

“Don’t you think if I gave a fuck about your blood status, I would have immediately called the Dark Lord myself at Easter?” he questioned icily, hissing through clenched teeth so low, it could barely be heard over the roar of the waves to their left.

 

Granger recoiled slightly, as though he had reached out and slapped her. “You stood by and _watched_ as your Aunt _tortured_ me.”

 

And there it was. Out in the open. They were going to have it out in the middle of Cosrosa, the beautiful, sunshiny island lain bare around them as a darkness swelled between them. “Do you think I _enjoyed_ watching you get tortured by that bitch?”

 

“Probably,” she huffed, crossing her arms like a petulant child. “You didn’t do a damn thing to stop her.”

 

“She would have killed me! And then you and your bumbling band of morons! And what good would that have done? Potter wouldn’t have been able to save the fucking world!” he told her, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he drew in.

 

“So, you cowered in the corner? I remember the look in your eyes! Cold and uncaring, just like the man you are!” she turned to walk away and Draco grabbed her arm.

 

About this time, a couple passing by them along the beach stopped and eyed him suspiciously. “Is he bothering you, miss?” the male asked, stepping closer to them.

 

“I am trying to have a discussion with my friend, if you would leave us be,” Draco spat at him.

 

“She doesn’t look too happy to be having this chat,” the woman said, looking to Granger.

 

The curly-haired witch waved them off. “I’m fine. We were just debating what to do about lunch.”

 

The couple stared but the man nodded. “If you’re sure.”

 

“I’m sure, thank you,” Granger told them with a strained smile.

 

They reluctantly walked on, leaving Draco and Granger to stare at one another, both breathing heavily in their anger. He leaned into her, bending to get down eyelevel with her. “Did it ever occur to you, _Hermione,_ that I was putting up walls and compartmentalizing so that I could become unattached from the situation? That perhaps I didn’t want to feel how terrified the situation was making me? How helpless? How the sound of your screams echoed off my eardrums—even to this day. How I awaken from a fitful sleep in the dead of night, your face at the forefront of my mind?”

 

The fierce set to Granger’s jaw seemed to relax ever so slightly and the gold flecks in her eyes dimmed as the heated passion coursing through her began to ebb. Her eyes—had they always been so large and expressive?—searched his face. For what, he was unsure. But as she backed away from his aggressive stance, a flood of terror gripped him. He had shown too much, laid his cards bare for her to read too readily.

 

In that moment, under the blazing Italian sun, surrounded by azure waters and roseate sands, Draco felt more vulnerable than he ever had before. He should be compartmentalizing as Granger scrutinized his face, but instead, he stood there, his arms dangling by his sides. He felt utterly exhausted, stripped bare of the façade he had carefully erected over so many years.

 

He had just admitted that her torment still brought him nightmares, her screams ringing through him as fresh as they had that torturous day. He had not known much of the witch before the War—she was the enemy because of the soiled blood that ran through her veins, because she was Harry Potter’s best friend, because she consistently bested him at everything they ever set out to accomplish. But seeing someone he knew, had grown up around for six years prior, it set something off within him. He had been petrified, stricken with abhorrent panic at the sight and sound of her, writhing in agony in his childhood home. He had once played toy brooms on the very Persian rug where she had twisted and contorted grotesquely and his home held onto that stagnant, oppressive feel for the months that followed.

 

The memory of that day tasted metallic, of blood and the heavy despair that had hung in the air around him, choking the very life force from within. If he swallowed as he stared her down, her curls whipping in the coastal breeze as she tore her gaze from his to look toward where they had been headed, he could taste that tinny sapidity mocking him.

 

The ever-present maelstrom that threatened to tear Draco limb from limb, to shatter his very being, began to rage. He was drowning in the flood of emotions, the unfavorable vulnerability that he had so carefully suffocated for the last few years of his life. “Do you think I enjoyed that? Do you honestly think I ever wanted any of it, Granger?”

 

When her eyes wandered back to him, he could see the glassiness of tears threatening to fall. If he hadn’t learned to tamp down that weakness long ago, he was almost certain he would be crying as well, with the sheer force of the negative emotions swirling within him. He collapsed down into the sand, putting his elbows on his bent knees, his head in his hands. The wizard dug his toes into the sand, the feelings of inadequacy and melancholy nestling deep within. “I never wanted this,” he murmured aloud, his voice not loud enough over the waves that repeatedly kissed the shore. “Just go.”

 

Granger gave him a long stare and then turned slowly to leave him. Draco had to draw in long, deep breaths to try and quell the aching in his chest, running a hand over where his expanding lungs were burning with the effort. The briny air worked to mollify his gloomy disposition. Granger had managed to wound him where he was already weak and burdened. His Mark was dark against his luminescent skin and he pursed his lips and shook his head. The sight of it made him want to vomit.

 

Draco was unsure of how many minutes had passed, when he heard the soft shuffling of sand as someone approached. He looked up and Granger was staring down at him. She extended her hand and cleared her throat. “Let’s see about this library.”

 

Why was she offering her hand to him? The woman before him absolutely _loathed_ him, and perhaps rightfully so. And yet, here Granger stood, her head blocking out the high sun, curls falling from her messy bun to frame her face wildly, the skirt of her dress ruffling slightly as she lifted an eyebrow. He slid his much larger hand into her delicate one and allowed himself to be pulled into an upright position, exposing just a little more of his vulnerability where this strange witch was concerned.

 

o-o-o

  


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

 

Hermione’s mind was reeling from her baffling and unnerving row with Malfoy. The boy—no, man—had a way of causing a visceral erosion of her countenance, like sulfuric acid injected straight into her bloodstream. But there was something more to him, she just couldn’t place her finger on it. The despondent and wholly riven look that had graced his features after he had spoken the truth aloud to her had torn at her heart in an unexpected and uninvited way.

 

This was Draco _sodding_ Malfoy. He had no business causing her to feel sorry for him. He had been a Death Eater, hellbent on ridding the world of her kind. But there was something there, lurking just below the surface. And in the few brief minutes on the beach, his carefully chiseled guise had begun to chip away and the man he was underneath had shown through. Inside that hardened marble front, there was a frightened, confused and repentant man, hollering to be released. And Hermione simply could not ignore it.

 

Draco Malfoy’s eyes were every bit the proverbial “window into his soul.” As she had looked within the depths of his eyes—not completely silver, but flecked with freckles of blue, brought forward by the crystalline backdrop of the ocean—she had seen clearly into his mind. There was a tempest raging within him and she found herself wondering, _Why?_

He had been on the opposing side of the War, had defected in just enough time and had managed to escape any real punishment. For all intents and purposes, his life should be vastly improved over where it had been a year before. So why did those mercurial orbs hold such a haunted hollowness?

 

Could he possibly have been telling the truth when he said that her torture brought him nightmares, that he could still hear her screams? He had been a soldier in Voldemort’s foot army. So why should he experience such a guttural reaction to watching his aunt cast the Cruciatus Curse on her repeatedly? That day had been chaotic for certain, and the worst in her entire life, but surely, he had witnessed and done far worse.

 

They walked along the shore, close enough to the water for it to occasionally crest over her bare feet, the cool temperature sending little absolvent jolts through her. Hermione spared Malfoy a few sideways glances and he seemed to be staring straight ahead, his truthfulness leaving him spent for the day. He looked fatigued and entirely too forlorn to be on a beachy getaway. She supposed he was dealing with the aftereffects of War, just as she was.

 

If one could call what she was doing “dealing.” Hermione hardly slept through the night, even with the assistance of dreamless draught—it appeared there were some nightmares that were too persistent to quell. And she would be remiss if she didn’t admit that his hauntingly beautiful eyes, so cold and relentlessly staring, hadn’t played a part at the forefront of many of those dreams.

 

Why would the Fates be so cruel as to bring them together when it was so glaringly clear that the two of them needed nothing more than to heal? How could their War wounds stitch themselves back together, their psyches calm enough to allow them to lead productive lives if the mere sight of one another brought out the worst in them?

 

Perhaps there was some underlying reasoning that she could not quite comprehend just yet. They were almost two thousand miles from home, on an island that not many back home even knew about. Hermione had never been one for whimsies—there was always a concrete reason why everything happened. This serendipitous meeting was not an accident. The Fates, or the Gods, or whoever, wanted to bring she and Draco Malfoy together on this island. She was meant to see the broken, beaten spirit encased within him, of this she was certain. _But why?_

 

As they strolled along toward the ward between the magical and muggle sides of the island, she could feel an almost radiant acrimony rolling off of him. The air she breathed had an almost bitter, metallic taste to it and she wondered if his sullen disposition was immediately affecting his surroundings.

 

They neared the ward and both stood still for a few brief moments, simply staring at the shimmering wall before them. They could clearly see through it, as though they were looking through a mirage on a hot summer day. “Granger—Hermione, I want to apologize,” the wizard began as they watched a muggle toss a ball into the ocean and a gigantic dog chase after it.

 

Hermione felt her heart begin to thrum as she looked up to where he was staring at the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets and flicked at the sand with one toe, looking the part of a repentant child. “I don’t…I mean…I’ve done a lot of wrong in my life. And I’ve apologized for very little of it,” he began, looking up at her.

 

Hermione watched as the light breeze ruffled his hair, his eyes looking straight into her own as he tucked his forearm a little closer to himself, masking his Mark from her view. “I will not apologize for everything, because I did what I thought to be right and, in the end, it kept my family alive. Dumbledore’s death and the events leading up to it were forced upon me—a boy of sixteen—by a man I feared and loathed in equal parts. After Dumbledore’s death, I nearly lost my life and came within seconds of being forced to take my mother’s. I will not apologize for any event that took place that saved her from the Dark Lord’s wrath.”

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. This was not an apology. “I take full responsibility for everything I’ve done. I know that it was wrong and, perhaps, could have been avoided. But at the time, with the Dark Lord breathing down my neck, forcing my hand by way of threats against myself and my parents, I thought I was doing the right thing. And I would do it again if the results were the same,” he told her, his face showing the conviction with which he spoke.

 

“This is a hell of an apology, Malfoy,” she told him with a sardonic snort.

 

“I haven’t gotten to the apology yet. But if you would kindly stop talking, I might be able to get there,” he retorted, his tone biting.

 

The witch recoiled slightly. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking taken aback at his harsh tone.

 

He sighed and looked at the ground between them once more. “I _will_ apologize to you, however. You’re right—I should have done something, anything to stop my Aunt from inflicting you with the Cruciatus. Created a diversion, placed a wandless cooling charm over you to stop the pain, convinced them more soundly that it wasn’t the three of you.”

 

“We weren’t friends. We still aren’t—”

 

“No, we aren’t. But as I said, I _knew_ you. I watched you answer Snape’s questions in Potions with so much excitement I thought my godfather would hex you. I witnessed you carrying so many books out of the library that I often wondered how you would make it up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. I may not _know_ you on a deep, personal level. But you were still my classmate, a child thrust into unwelcome circumstances, just as I was, and you were trying to defeat the one man I wanted this world to be rid of. But I was a coward—I still am. I feared death and the Dark Lord’s retribution more than anything else,” he finished, running a hand through his hair.

 

Malfoy seemed as though he was feeling awkward, his emotions spread out between them in a way she was certain he never let anyone, save maybe Theo and his mother, see. He crossed his arms and looked beyond her, out at the water. Hermione felt her mouth agape, her brain fighting to catch up with what he had just said. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, only realizing that she had voiced her question aloud after it had left her lips.

 

He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Sometimes you just need to talk about things, Hermione. And Theo and Blaise think the only way to move forward is to completely ignore our pasts. Well, my past is going to haunt me and will undoubtedly shape who I am as a man. Whatever that man may become. As beautiful as some of the women on this island are,” his eyes flickered down to hers, “I don’t want to be like them and go and chase some strange bird, just to bed her down and have a little fun between the sheets. That is not the way to heal from the problems I have caused myself in this life.”

 

Hermione could understand this sentiment on a personal level. Harry had become nearly the same way, almost maniacal in his pursuit of happiness. He plastered a smile on his face each day, refusing to speak of the events of the months and years prior. He had staunchly refused McGonagall’s offer to return to Hogwarts, stating he did not feel as though he could return to those now hallowed grounds. But beyond that, his disposition had been falsely cheery. Hermione knew her best friend was hurting, that he likely had just as many nightmares. But he wanted no part in acknowledging it. And the couple of times she had actually voiced her concern for him had been met with an acquiescing, “I’m doing fine, ‘Mione. Just happy to be alive.”

 

His break-up with Ginny had been the closest thing to a break in his façade that she had seen since the War ended. Harry had been her best friend for nearly eight years now, and Hermione liked to think she knew everything there was to know about the wizard. The two had drawn close during their time on the lam, hunting Voldemort’s cursed trinkets, especially when Ron had left and all they had was one another. Harry deserved happiness, but she could not push him into it. She knew this from years of trying to nag him into caring more about his schoolwork than Quidditch.

 

To hear Malfoy admit that he had a similar want to acknowledge that their pasts would mold their futures was refreshing. Someone _understood_. How curious that the one person to whom she could relate was also her one-time enemy. But was he still her enemy? Hermione looked up at him, his face so full of earnest and more readily open than she had ever seen it before and in that moment, she understood. No. He was no longer the enemy.

 

“I understand,” she managed to breathe after too many moments had passed.

 

The stiff set of his shoulders nearly melted away and he gave her one curt nod. He turned back and glanced through the ward, retrieving his shoes from his pocket and enlarging them. “Well, let’s see what all we can get into at the muggle library, then.”

 

Hermione felt as though the two of them, longtime foes, had finally come to a truce. She turned once more and they both put their hands out, the wards shimmering around their wrists. Crossing through the barrier, there was a cool sensation, refreshing after so much heat and sunshine. Upon looking around, she noticed the layout of the muggle end of the island wasn’t quite the same as their own end. To their right, there was no mountain with a sprawling forest. To their left, the water was a darker shade of blue. The brightly colored villas had melded into a bustling seaside port city. Ahead of them, large ships at port, unloading hordes of goods, crates of fish and oranges, a team of men passing things along the row by hand until it reached the trucks that would bring each box to its respective area.

 

The air took on a stronger smell, of baked goods, burning meat and paint from where a nearby home was being renovated. There were significantly less tourists on the muggle end of the island, what with Sicily nearby. Malfoy—no, _Draco_ , since he had called her Hermione—looked around in curious wonder. It was certainly much more daily hustling and bustling than in the indolent wizarding resorts they had left behind.

 

Draco turned and walked toward the boardwalk that separated the town from the sea. He paused to lean against a high stucco wall to brush his feet off and Hermione sighed and followed suit. “This would be easier with magic,” she heard him mumble and she hid a small smirk to herself.

 

As they slowly ambled into town, marveling at the sights and smells of an open-air market as they passed through. _“Bella donna,”_ an elderly man selling floral bouquets called after her. _“_ _Non ameresti dei fiori?”_

She turned and gave the man a gentle wave to stave off his sales pitch, not understanding him anyway. _“Giovanotto, quanto sarebbe bella tua moglie guardare con un fiore tra i capelli?”_ the man addressed Draco directly. 

 

Draco gave a gentle laugh and Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You speak Italian?” she asked him, slightly miffed that he had an advantage over her on something. 

 

“Living with Blaise for seven years can do that to you. And only enough to get by—not enough to really converse.” 

 

“So, what did he say?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. 

 

“He asked, ‘wouldn’t your wife look beautiful with a flower in her hair?’” he replied, looking away from her with a weak smile. 

 

Wife? The thought nearly made her choke on her own saliva. He lifted his finger and indicated to the man to give him a solitary flower. He pulled a muggle wallet from his back pocket and handed the man a bill, retrieving the giant white lily. He looked to Hermione, the smile in his lips entirely too playful as he slid the lily over her ear and tucked it under her locks to stay in place. He turned back to the man. _“Bellissima?”_ he asked and the man gave a wide, toothless smile and nodded. “You have his approval,” Draco told her, looking amused. 

 

Hermione brought her fingertips up and brushed them along the flower. She could not make heads or tails of the situation. Draco Malfoy had just bought her a flower. After they had had it out on the beach and then his heartfelt apology that had tugged at her own heartstrings. She glanced up toward the cobalt skies, silently asking for some kind of sign for the reasoning behind this strange day.  _“La Biblioteca?”_ Draco asked the man. 

 

Hermione stopped listening as the man gave him basic instructions on how to find the library. She was staring up at the blond wizard in wonderment, trying to work out his unusual antics. Draco nodded and turned to start walking. “That man may be off his rocker. Or my Italian may be far rustier than I ever imagined.” 

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

 “He told me to go down the road under the umbrellas, just beyond the church ahead on the right,” he replied with a puzzled shrug. 

 

“Under the umbrellas? You’re sure that’s what he said?” she asked, frowning. 

 

“No, Granger. I just said it may be my Italian translating skills,” he rolled his eyes. “But let’s go past the church and see what we can find.” 

 

They walked along old cobblestone streets, the brick sun-washed and bleached nearly white, crumbling in some areas in a charming, old world way. They drew nearer to the white-washed church, the sound of chanting and organ music falling through open windows. An elderly woman sat on the stairs outside and eyed them warily. Her hand went, almost instinctively, to a crucifix around her neck and she crossed herself, whispering in Italian as she watched them pass. “What is that all about?” Draco asked, leaning down toward Hermione. 

 

“I’d say she’s probably sensitive to magical beings. I am willing to bet she knows _exactly_ what the other half of this island is about,” she told him with a shrug.  

 

As they passed the woman, they approached a road leading behind it into a row of quaint storefronts. And, lo and behold, the entire pathway was shaded by hundreds of colorful umbrellas, suspended in the air. “I’ll be damned,” Draco muttered, staring up at the sight with a sneer on his face. “Is this the Muggle answer to shade? Stringing along hundreds of umbrellas?”  

 

Hermione looked above them as she walked, turning so that she walked backward a few steps. “I think it’s neat. Eccentric. I’ve never anything like this before.” 

 

Draco scoffed. “Yes. Eccentric.” 

 

In the distance, beyond the row of shops, there was a large Ferris Wheel, looming in the backdrop. Everything on this island was colorful and vibrant and contrasted so smartly to the infernal moods both she and Draco had seemingly carried since the War. It would be almost mocking if the sights didn’t cause them both to smile slightly. They walked, Hermione trying to read shop signs so she could determine what each place was offering, Draco looking at the gadgets the muggles held.  Ahead, nestled at the end of the row was another old Tuscan-inspired building, its façade crumbling in a way that was more whimsical and endearing than dangerous or unsightly. Splashed across the front was a weathered mural of a small girl reading a book. “The library,” he told her, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him on the stairs. Her foot caught a step and she began to stumble down, but she felt a hand at the base of her back, holding her upright.

 

“Maybe pay attention to where you are walking?” he mocked, dropping his hand when she was on even footing. 

 

“You prat. Like you’ve never tripped over your own two, ridiculously long feet,” she retorted, glaring at him over her shoulder as she made her way into the library. 

 

It was small—incredibly so—and smelled of stale tomes and ancient hardwood flooring and shelving. She noticed Draco take a deep breath as he looked around. “I know nothing of muggle authors,” he admitted quietly. 

 

“Ah. Then we should head…this way,” she told him, pointing toward the children’s section. 

 

Draco leaned down and retrieved a book. “These are for children, Granger. Even in Italian, I’m sure you can tell by the photographs?” he asked, turning the book around and pointing to a drawing of a mouse wearing a dress. 

 

She smirked to herself and retrieved the book she was looking for. She shoved it into his chest, a broad smile across her face as she pushed past him to go look at the mystery section. _“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”_ he mused as he followed her. “What on earth is this rubbish?” 

 

“You said you wanted a book with rivers made of chocolate. Well, there’s rivers made of chocolate, guarded by tiny people called ‘oompa-loompas.’ Chewing gum that turns a girl into a giant human blueberry—” 

 

“Muggles really _are_ completely insane. Marmalade skies and chocolate rivers,” he muttered under his breath, looking over the children’s book. “A preoccupation with food to rival Weasley’s.” 

 

Hermione laughed at that, so loudly that the middle-aged librarian put a single finger over her lips at the intrusive pair. She pulled a few books from the shelves as she walked along the mystery section, Malfoy going to the other side to look through the science fiction. She could not understand the titles and knew she would have to use a translating spell later, so she selected two by their covers. Her least favorite thing to do—judge a book by its cover. Her eyes skimmed the spines and she could have sworn she caught Malfoy looking at her from between the stacks. Her eyes kept darting to his face when she thought he was not looking, taking in the stern set of his face, his furrowed brow as he tried to translate the names of the books. Again, she was struck with how this man, who had witnessed and likely committed atrocities, could become so calm at the sight and smell books. There was so much she did not know about him. What terrified her, even more, was that she wanted to know all of those little eccentricities. The minutia that made him tick. 

 

o-o-o


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

 

It had been a week since Draco had accompanied Granger to the library. In that week, he had holed himself up in his bed and read the various books he had borrowed. He had felt ridiculous reading a book aimed at children, but he had already read through _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ three times—twice in Italian and once using a translating spell. He had been absolutely certain that he had missed something in Italian, but the tale had been every bit as strange in English. This Wonka bloke was a serial killer—that much was apparent.

 

There was a soft knock at his door and Draco furrowed his brow and set the book on the nightstand. He cracked the door just enough to peer through at the intruder to his solace and a mass of curls piled atop of an olive-toned and golden face looked up at him. He opened the door and leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. “Can I help you with something?” he asked, his tone sharp.

 

As Draco surveyed her face, etched with uncertainty, he remembered how pretty and carefree she had looked with a pure white lily in her hair, twirling under the colorful canopy of umbrellas. With a thick gulp, he swallowed down that dangerous thought and raised an eyebrow. “The others and I were going down to the beach for a picnic of sorts. I—we didn’t know if you wanted to join us?”

 

The astute wizard had not missed her initial slip of the tongue— _she_ wondered if he might join. There was a strong doubt in his mind that Potter or Lovegood had thought to ask him. He turned away from the door to retrieve his things, gesturing over his shoulder for her to come into the room. After changing into his swim shorts, he walked into the sitting room, pulling a shirt over his head. When his head popped out of the hole, Granger was blushing and looking away. _Curious._

 

“I wanted to return the books to the library. Did you want me to take yours as well?” he asked, silently hoping she would agree to accompany him.

 

Merlin help him. Draco was so lonely that he craved Granger’s company. Even the warm sunshine and promise of scantily clad women had not been enough to pull him out of the dark space his mind was inhabiting. He had resorted to doing just as he had at the Manor—lying in bed for days on end, only leaving his room to eat with the others twice a day.

 

Since their trip to the library, Granger had been slightly friendlier to him—she attempted politely to bring him into conversations at the table, she gave him a pleasant nod and smile upon seeing him, and she did not pry him for answers as to his whereabouts or his activities. She _understood_ him, knew without speaking that he was still trying desperately to bring healing to his soul.

 

“Would it be alright if I joined you as you went into town? There’s a shop I want to visit,” she mentioned, looking apologetic for trampling over his privacy.

“Granger, if you want to spend time with me, all you have to do is ask,” he deadpanned, relishing the way her cheeks pinkened slightly.

 

“You’re insufferable, you know that? Haughtily arrogant one moment and hauntingly broken the next. Your mental instabilities nearly give me whiplash to try and keep up with,” she scolded lightly, leading him from the room.

 

They walked out into the bright sunshine, the warmth playing over his body as the gentlest of breezes blew across his face and ruffled his hair. She brought them to where their two groups of friends were already spreading out blankets and using sticking charms to keep them flush to the sand. “Man. That is pasty,” Theo called out as they approached.

 

“Fuck off, Theo. Witches swoon over this delectably creamy skin, you prick,” Draco retorted, dropping his knapsack onto one corner of the burly Slytherin’s blanket.

 

“What witches, Malfoy? You haven’t taken a single witch out since we arrived on Cosrosa,” Blaise argued, pulling his shirt over his head.

 

As if joining his two friends in their mocking, two witches strode past, one topless and one in a bikini so small she might as well have been. Draco opened his mouth to protest when the sight of Luna Lovegood sliding her dress down her waist stopped him. His eyes widened and Theo spun around to see what had caught his attention. “Bloody _hell_ , Lovegood. You need to warn a man.”

 

She giggled and shrugged. “I didn’t bother to wear a bathing suit top.”

 

While the blonde was not exactly his cup of tea, Draco found his eyes flickering to Granger. She was staring in horror at her friend’s back as Lovegood stared out over the sea, hands on hips. Potter was staring in fascination and unmistakable admiration and when Granger noticed this, she popped him on the back of his scarred skull. “Ow, ‘Mione! What was that for?” he rubbed the back of his head.

 

Theo clapped Draco on the back. “Oi, Granger! You going to join in on the fun?” he asked her, his voice dripping with gleeful mocking.

 

She looked up to the three Slytherins, her eyes lingering on Draco’s for only a brief moment before she steeled her countenance. “I would, but I wore a one-piece bathing suit.”

 

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Theo asked as Blaise caught sight of the next witch he wished to bed and excused himself.

 

Granger shook her head at him. “Perhaps my goal is not to provide you buffoons with a good time!”

 

“Oh, _testy_ ,” the dark-haired wizard replied, to which Potter glared at them.

 

Draco shrugged and put his hands up in surrender, pulling his own shirt over his head. Lovegood turned back their way and went to the bag she had brought. “Draco, I would strongly suggest you put some of this all over; your complexion is similar to mine,” she told him, handing him a tub of some kind of cream.

 

He maintained eye contact as he thanked her, but noticed Potter stealing glances at the blonde witch from behind her back as Granger was otherwise too occupied to notice. _So, Potter wants a little of her good lovin’, eh?_ Draco chuckled at his corny play on her last name and opened the tub to survey its contents. With a delicate sniff, he realized that it smelled of tea and mint. “It will keep you from burning, but you may get some color yet. I haven’t figured out how to keep the freckles at bay, however,” Lovegood told him, gesturing to her bare shoulders.

 

Draco looked at where she pointed politely, saw the freckles covering her skin and nodded. Granger was pulling at the strings holding her dress around her shoulders when she sauntered over to the two blondes. “Luna is amazing at natural and cosmetic potions, lotions and soaps,” she complimented her friend just as her dress was pulled off and she began folding it.

 

It took a great deal more self-control for Draco to maintain eye contact with her, fully dressed than it had been with the topless Lovegood. “I tan much more readily than you would, but I’ve hardly burned at all.”

 

Draco swallowed hard once more and looked down at where she held an olive-toned arm between them. She laughed when he held his up for comparison. “You nearly glow in the sunlight! You’re worse than Harry.”

 

“Hey! I resent that!” her friend said from behind them.

 

Granger let out a laugh and Draco breathed a sigh of relaxation as she made her way back to him, leaning up to kiss Potter’s cheek. “Put this on me?” she asked, retrieving a separate tub of sun potion, one laced with something that might have been cocoa powder to darken it.

 

She sat primly on the blankets and Potter sat behind her, stretching his legs out on either side of her. He rubbed the lotion between his hands and began applying it to Granger’s bare shoulders, all the while stealing glances at the quirky blonde who was kicking and splashing at the waves all too cheerfully.

 

Draco stood, gaze transfixed on where the two friends were sitting. He wanted to look away, but something deep within him began to stir at the light moaning noises Granger made as Potter’s hands ran over the muscles of her back. Jealousy coursed through him, his hands twitching at his sides as though they yearned themselves for the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders beneath them. Anger came next—at himself for feeling these odd emotions and urges toward the witch, and at Potter for double playing her. If Potter and Granger were an item—there was no doubt in his mind that they were with the cozy and easy way they interacted—then the raven-haired moron should not be looking so lustily toward the crazy little topless pixie. Even the insufferably swotty Granger deserved better than that treatment.

 

“You’re really stiff, ‘Mione. You really should utilize our spa vouchers and see about a massage to work out these knots,” Potter was saying.

 

“You know I don’t like people touching me, Harry,” she replied, rubbing the cocoa lotion all over her arms.

 

Just as Granger began dragging her hands over her neck and chest, Theo leaned into Draco’s ear. “See something you like, hey Malfoy?”

 

Draco turned away from the catty little witch and her pigheaded boyfriend, rubbing the sun potion over his scar-laden chest. Theo looked at him, his face shining with evil mirth. “Fuck off, Nott, or I’ll hex your bollocks clean off your body,” Draco muttered, casting his eyes toward the sand.

 

Theo let out a booming laugh and put his arm around Draco’s shoulders. “Malfoy, you need a good romp between the sheets to dislodge the wand from up your arse. Let’s see if we can’t find you a pretty little bird to ensnare.”

 

Theo continued to chatter in his ear, but the blond wizard was ignoring him completely. Granger stood and helped Potter to his feet. He sauntered off to join Lovegood at the shore and Granger hung back, watching him walk away. She pulled the tie from her hair, unleashing a wild, impish mass of curls and he felt a twitch in his cock. “How about her?” Theo’s voice broke through his line of thinking.

 

“How about who?” Draco asked, shaking his head.

 

“The brunette,” Theo sounded exasperated as he pointed toward an extraordinarily beautiful witch, who walked along the water slowly and alone.

 

Draco tried shaking his thoughts about the brunette on his left as he stared at the woman. Maybe Theo was correct in his line of thinking. He was having absurdly dirty thoughts about a witch he had never considered tolerable, let alone female. Granger and he had shared a few moderately amiable interactions after he had apologized, but they were far from friends and even further from him being able to act on the thoughts flashing through his mind. And she was currently wrapped up in Potter. At least he was an upgrade from that redheaded bastard she had pinned after before.

 

Draco knew he needed to heed Theo’s words. He needed to unleash some of his stress and tension and perhaps a pretty little witch was the only way. Clearly wallowing in self-pity in his bed for weeks on end was getting him nowhere. “She’s,” Granger looked over to him, an eyebrow raised, “stunning. But this,” he held his forearm up to display his Mark, “is not exactly an appealing asset.”

 

Granger came to stand in front of him, running a single fingertip along his Sectumsempra scar, causing a shiver to wrack through him. “Perhaps glamour the scars first—it’ll make you less scary,” she told him, smiling wickedly before she turned and sashayed toward the water.

 

“Mate, you’re playing with fire,” Theo told him as he followed his friend’s line of sight, causing Draco to drag his eyes away from her retreating backside—which was perfectly plump if he were honest.

 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Nott,” Draco sniffed haughtily, dragging his wand along his Mark and then the Sectumsempra scar in turn.

 

The scars did not disappear completely, but the girl would have to squint to find any evidence of them. “Go turn on that Malfoy charm, reclaim your title as the ‘Slytherin Sex God,’” the burly wizard shook his head in false mortification, “and get you some. Because if you do not snap out of this mood, I’m going to Avada you and put you out of your misery. And ours.”

 

“This is not the way to handle things,” Draco muttered, running his fingers through his hair to tousle it in a way witches enjoyed before he sighed and made his way toward the brunette.

 

As he walked over the sand, he started surveying the witch, attempting to find something on her person to spark a conversation. He spotted a diamond bracelet on her wrist and, plastering on his most charming grin, walked up beside her. “The glint from those diamonds nearly blinded me. Is that a Baratanyo piece?” he asked as she looked up and let out an audible gasp, her eyes brightening with interest.

 

Draco’s false smile widened into a true grin at her reaction. _I’ve still got it._

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione watched as Malfoy walked alongside a stunningly beautiful witch. He was putting on the charm, dazzling the poor girl into near speechlessness. Hermione scoffed, a huff of indignation leaving her lips. Had he not just told her the week before that he did not want to have casual sex to lose himself? He _had_ seemed reluctant to approach the woman, so perhaps he was doing this as a last resort attempt to feel human.

 

She looked around her and watched her best friend as he clearly flirted with Luna. He was moving on from Ginny. Yet, Hermione was nowhere near moving forward, stuck in a perpetual limbo. She did not miss Ron so much as she just yearned for male companionship—someone to cuddle into at night, to speak freely to, to kiss and share romantic moments on this romantic island with.

 

As Harry flipped water toward their bare friend, both laughing gleefully, Hermione’s gaze returned to where Malfoy and his next date were stopped, her laughing way too ostentatiously at something he said, he recoiling slightly at her veracity. Hermione felt a sharp pang in her chest, more alone than she had ever been before. She left the cool water to amble back to their blankets. She and Harry had brought enough food for everyone, but she found she was no longer hungry. Hermione pulled her dress up and over her hips and was tying it around her neck as the sound of sand shifting behind her startled her.

 

“Trying to sneak away?” came the silky voice of the Malfoy heir.

 

She turned, smoothing her dress over her legs. “I just didn’t feel up to swimming anymore.”

 

“You’re lying,” he retorted, looking from her to where Harry and Luna were trying to catch some of the tropical fish that swam around their legs. “What’s the matter?”

 

Hermione wanted nothing more than to get back to her room, to climb into her bed and avoid the pitying, curious gaze the wizard was currently giving her. “I suppose I’m just feeling a little lonely,” she admitted, retrieving her beaded bag and slinging it around her shoulders.

 

“But…you have Potter,” Malfoy said, gesturing toward said wizard.

 

“It’s just…not the same,” she replied, turning to go.

 

“Wait, Granger,” he crossed to her and fell into step with her, dragging his shirt over his head and slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Did you still want to go into town? I’m not much of a beach-goer myself.”

 

He looked down at her and Hermione noticed that he seemed uncertain. Malfoy would not be the answer to her loneliness, but his company was better than going up to her room and having a good cry. “Sure. I just needed a few items.”

 

“Perhaps we could get some lunch,” he suggested.

 

Malfoy wanted to accompany her into town _and_ he wanted to take her to lunch. To boast about his date, no doubt. She frowned at the ground before them as they walked. “Your pre-date luncheon?” she tried teasing.

 

His mood went a little sour, a brief flicker in his countenance before he sighed. “Isabella. That’s her name.”

 

“I thought you said you didn’t want some fleeting tryst?” she asked him accusatorily.

 

“What the fuck do you want from me, Granger?” he demanded as they neared the wards separating the two halves of the island.

 

“Nothing. I was just asking, since last week you felt differently on the matter. Your actions today were contradictory to that statement.”

 

“Maybe you’re not the only person who’s lonely,” he told her forcefully.

 

His admission, the same she had given just minutes before, rang through her. Hermione knew she had no right guilting him about his decisions—he was a grown man who could make his own choices and he was not hers to claim in any way. “If it makes you feel any better,” he began, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I don’t want to go. I’m only trying to test Theodore’s theory that some physical interaction will be a good distraction for my mind. At least for a little while.”

 

A vision of Malfoy thrusting into the illustrious Isabella flashed in her mind before she willed her mind to clear. “I’m sorry, Draco. It’s not my business.”

 

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, you know?” he tried, stepping through the shimmering ward.

 

Hermione knew precisely what Malfoy had meant. She herself was so wary of her own mind’s inability to rest. Half-deranged and sleep deprived, the witch felt close to breaking most days. Harry was there for her, but there was a hole, a void where something—or someone—was missing and try as she might, she simply could not riddle out what was causing the void or what it would take to fill it. She awoke with the sun each day and shuffled about until she fell into a fitful slumber at night, at times not remembering what had filled the hours in between, wondering if she had unwittingly slipped into unconsciousness.

 

“I know exactly how you feel,” came her reply, a show of companionable solidarity with her one-time foe.

 

o-o-o

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

 

“So where is it you wanted to go?” Malfoy asked as they made their way toward the boardwalk leading into town.

 

“I saw a store that sold handspun wool. I thought I’d pick up a few skeins and a couple of new knitting needles,” Hermione replied, already trying to picture in what color scheme she would decorate her room at Hogwarts with upon her return.

 

“You’re going to knit?” the wizard drawled indolently. “You are on the most gorgeous island in the Mediterranean Sea. And you’re going to while away the hours… _knitting?”_

Hermione bristled at his comment, a surge of irritation at his condescending tone. “I happen to enjoy keeping my hands busy. It helps keep my mind active as well, so I don’t focus on…the bad.”

 

Malfoy hummed deeply in the back of his throat and clucked his tongue once. They passed the flower vendor once more and this time, the blond had liras in hand, prepared for him. Hermione was able to surmise that he had given him quite a bit more than it would cost for one flower, as the man plucked a few flowers from his stores and handed them to Malfoy.

 

The wizard gestured for her to continue walking. “Dahlias,” he commented shortly, weaving the stems together and whispering incantations under his breath to keep them together. “Do you know much of flower lore, Granger?”

 

Hermione tried wracking her brain for any knowledge she had of flowers. She knew the properties of a few varieties they had used in potions, but beyond that had no recollection of having studied them in school. “No,” she quietly admitted, absurdly feeling an agitating swell of indignation that he should know more about something than she.

 

That feeling intensified when Malfoy looked over at her with a triumphant grin. “Well, my mother happens to have a knack for such things and she taught me quite a bit growing up.”

 

“A mama’s boy, huh?” Hermione teased, knowing full well he was.

 

His smile fell into a quick frown before he slid his stony façade into place. “Yes, well. My father was not always around. I spent a great deal of time with my mother during the summers and before Hogwarts.”

 

Hermione could sense that she had hit a sore spot for him and, while she wanted to press him and dive into that carefully guarded mind of his, she ran her fingertips over where his were pulling the ends of the flower chain together to create a crown. “So, what did she tell you of dahlias?” she asked, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to get his mindset back to mildly amused and tolerable.

 

“Dahlias, my dear Hermione, symbolize personal strength, elegance, and commitment. But they can also show that one welcomes change,” he told her, moving so that he walked backward in front of her as she continued her footfall.

 

“See the pretty way it starts that shade of yellow near the base, but each petal darkens from yellow to pink to red and tipped in this lovely shade of purple? An excellent way to betoken one’s growth and change,” he told her, placing the crown of flowers on her head.

 

Hermione’s brow furrowed at his words, bordering on romanticism, and she reached up to touch the crown once more. “How very…optimistic.”

 

Malfoy let out a loud laugh as they turned down the road shaded by umbrellas. “I suppose it is.”

 

The witch pointed to the shop where she could see a wall of handspun wool through a picture window. They entered, and she smirked at the bewildered look on Malfoy’s face as he reached out to touch the varying types of threads and wools, all tucked neatly into their own color-coordinated cubby holes. “What are you going to make, then? More scarves to try and entrap the house elves into freedom? _Spew,_ was it?” he asked her, his grin positively smug.

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, uncertain as to whether he was teasing good-naturedly or bullyingly. There was a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he looked down at her, awaiting her snarky response. “It was S.P.E.W., and no. I thought I’d fashion a noose with which to hang you. But you seem to be doing a damn fine job of accomplishing that with your sarcasm and listless wit.”

 

“Are you saying I’m slipping from your good graces, then?”

 

“Were you ever actually _in_ my good graces, Malfoy?” she countered, giving him a pointed look, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips traitorously.

 

He laughed outright then and looked back to the skeins of wool once more. “Really, what are you making?”

 

“I was thinking of a blanket for my bed at Hogwarts,” she responded, running her fingers over the threads.

 

“You’re going back to Hogwarts?” he asked, his hands stopping in midair from where he was reaching for a particularly Slytherin shade of green cashmere.

 

The look he gave her was one of incredulity. “Headmistress McGonagall,” Hermione’s voice swelled with pride at her prior Head of House’s new position, “wrote and asked if I would like to return in the fall. A way to learn everything necessary to pass the NEWTs.”

 

“Granger, you know everything that will appear on those exams. You could take them with your eyes closed and your wand hand tied behind your back,” Malfoy argued, keeping his voice low so that the eavesdropping shop owner could not hear.

 

Hermione tried to ignore the tickle of the pride she felt in her chest as his compliment washed over her. “I feel otherwise. I would like to be formally taught the subject matter.”

 

“But…that’s where everyone…people _died_ there,” he voiced in horror, finally lowering his hands to his sides.

 

As if she needed that reminder. As if Fred Weasley and Tonks and Lupin’s faces did not haunt her every waking moment, specters dancing in the recesses of her battered soul. Hermione nodded and took her bottom lip between her teeth, preoccupying her trembling hands with a particularly attractive skein of mauve. “I think I need to go back. It’s what I need—what we  _all_ need. To face our nightmares head on.”

 

She dragged her eyes from the shelves before her to the wizard beside her. His eyes flickered over her face, her lip as she worried it between her teeth, her wide honest eyes. His fingers grazed over the dahlia crown she still sported, clearly tracing a path his mind had thought to follow. Hermione, uncomfortable with the way his touch—not even directly in contact with her person—was making her nerves tingle within her, cleared her throat. “Anyway. I quite enjoy the lovely color of this,” she told him, fumbling with the wool in her hands.

 

Hermione paid the store owner and Malfoy carried her bag of purchases as they left. A gust of wind blew as they made their way under the jittering canopy of umbrellas, ruffling her skirt about her legs and she closed her eyes against it. The warm breeze was so welcome against her summer-slickened skin. “What do you enjoy doing?” she asked her partner as they made their way to the library.

 

When Malfoy did not respond right away, she opened one eye to peek at him. His jaw was set in a frown and again, she was aware that she had said the wrong thing. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.

 

She opened both of her eyes and looked at his profile as he stared at the cobblestone bricks as they walked, so intent she wondered if he was counting the stones. “I just meant, what do you do for fun? Besides Seek for the Slytherin House.”

 

Malfoy’s brows drew together and his lips formed a thin seam. “I never had time for such dalliances.”

 

Hermione stopped walking for a moment. “What do you mean? You never played games or colored with chalk or any of that?”

 

“If it was not constructive—if there was nothing to be gained from it, it was not permitted in the Malfoy household,” came his simple, strained reply.

 

The petite witch tried to picture a younger Draco Malfoy, sitting amongst adults, the world thrust on his shoulders as he acted as a man though he inhabited a child’s body. All of the stresses he had been under, and nothing to stimulate his mind? “You enjoyed potions,” she pointed out, remembering how astute he had been at the subject.

 

“I’m quite adept at brewing potions, yes. I enjoy playing with compounds and tinkering with timeframes and ingredient amounts to achieve slightly different results,” he conceded. “I suppose I also read more than the average teenager. Though, probably not as much as you.”

 

As Hermione stared at his face, she saw it—there was _something_ he was keeping from her. There was something more and his features plainly gave it away. Was he …ashamed? Embarrassed, perhaps? She wanted to know what could be so terrible, what Malfoy enjoyed so much that he had to be ashamed to say it aloud.

 

o-o-o

 

After they had both perused the stacks at the pitiful library, both only coming away with two tomes each, Hermione heard Malfoy’s stomach grumble next to her. His hand went to it as a chuckle left his lips. “I spotted a café on the edge of town, near the flower cart. Would you care for some lunch?” he asked her, looking around them before pulling out his wand and shrinking her purchases and their books.

 

“Ah, yes. The pre-date luncheon. I’d almost forgotten,” Hermione mused, though she had anything but forgotten the fact that the strangely intriguing wizard on her right would soon be buried to the hilt in some pretty Italian witch.

 

“I wish you would stop calling it that. Can’t we just call it ‘two no-longer-enemies-but-not-quite-friends having an amiable conversation over iced coffee and tiramisu?’” he replied, looking slightly miffed at her ribbing.

 

“Are we no longer enemies, then?” she could not resist and Malfoy groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face as they approached the café.

 

He gestured toward the door gruffly. “You’ll be the death of me, witch. You and your incessant commentary.”

 

Hermione laughed as she led him to a secluded table in the far-right corner of the small café. For such a smartly colored island, the café was decorated in muted earth tones—shades of cream, mocha, and red. A waitress glided over to their table and, upon seeing Malfoy’s face shining up at her as he spoke his order, her face broke into the sultriest of smiles. “Of course, _Tesoro_. Anything at all you want. I’ll return in just a moment,” she told him, her English as perfect as Blaise’s.

 

Hermione frowned at the woman’s back then turned to Malfoy, who was eyeing her sudden change in mood with curiosity. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he questioned, sipping at the water the waitress had left, idly squeezing a lemon over tinkling ice cubes.

 

She tried to steel her face and put a smirk across her lips, though it felt strained and forced. “She was flirting with you.”

 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Hermione and then glanced toward the waitress, who _was_ glancing in his direction as she spoke with another girl behind the counter. “No. She was just being friendly.”

 

Hermione let out a snort of derision. “Ha! Hardly. She didn’t even take her eyes off of you when I was speaking my order.”

 

“If that’s true, then that is rather rude. Can’t she see I’m here with you? How does she know you aren’t my girl?” he inquired, his face unreadable before he gave the waitress a smile that even Hermione had to admit was gorgeous.

 

The poor girl dropped a coffee pot, shattering the glass on the floor and jumping out of the way of the scalding hot liquid before it could splash across her legs. “Well, damn, Malfoy. Look what you made her do,” the brunette witch teased, raising an amused eyebrow at where the waitress’ friend began picking up the large shards of glass.

 

Draco hummed at the back of his throat, clearly calculating something in his mind that she was not privy to. “She wants to see flirting? I’ll show her how to be properly coquettish.”

 

A tiny knot of dread balled itself up right in the center of Hermione’s stomach at his words. As the waitress came around the counter with a fresh loaf of warm bread and some kind of a hazelnut and chocolate spread, a few wedges of fresh fruit, Draco angled his chair closer to Hermione’s. He was so close that he stretched his leg between both of Hermione’s under her chair, his knee knocking both of hers under the hem of her dress. “What are you—”

 

“Play along,” Malfoy instructed lowly, giving her a devilish look as the waitress sauntered over, too much sway in her too narrow hips. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco, wondering at his game as he lifted a hand and wrapped one of her curls around his finger, tugging it all too playfully. “You know, _amore mio_ , that flower crown really makes you look like an enchanted princess from some long-told fairy tale _._ And the way your curls frame your face so prettily,” he said, his voice smooth as silk as his long fingers tousled her hair around her face.

 

His plan was to flirt shamelessly with _her?_ Hermione felt a strange sensation at the pit of her stomach as his breath—sweet with lemon and mint—ghosted over her face, his mouth so close to her as he spoke that she could kiss him with a quick tilt of her head. The waitress set the plate down a little more harshly than necessary, toppling a tangerine slice onto the table top. Malfoy placed a hand on Hermione’s knee as he looked up at the waitress. “Thank you, my dear,” he said kindly, smiling at the Italian with way more charm than Hermione thought any one man should possess.

 

She put her hand over his as it began to creep ever so slightly up from her knee to her lower thigh. The waitress gave a nod and a false smile. “If you need anything, I’ll be around.”

 

“I have all I need right here,” Malfoy replied, turning to smile at Hermione and giving her a quick wink.

 

The woman walked away, significantly less sway in her hips, and she felt a tiny surge of contentment. “Serves her right for flirting with a man who is clearly out with a woman who may or may not be his,” the blond mumbled, looking smug as he smeared some of the sweet spread over the bread slice.

 

“I never knew you were so vindictive,” she replied, her heart beating as she glanced at the waitress. “She’s still watching us.”

 

“Be a better actress and she will lose interest quickly,” he shrugged, giving her the cockiest smile she had ever seen grace his features.

 

Hermione had no idea of the motives behind Malfoy’s little game of charades, but he seemed irked by the forwardness of the waitress. _Rich, coming from the bloke who nabbed a witch on the beach in less than five minutes_. She snorted a small laugh at the thought. He brought the perfectly covered slice of warm bread to her lips, his other hand to graze along her jaw as she opened her mouth to take a bite. “Have a taste, my sweet.”

 

She fought back a grin at the overtly, sickeningly saccharine way he was speaking. No way was the real Malfoy ever this romantic and tender. Her eyes, however, did take note of the way his mouth parted ever so slightly as he watched her lips form around the bread to bite off a piece. When she began to chew, he popped the uneaten half into his mouth, sharing the treat. How far he had come from eschewing her because of her blood status to eating something she had already bitten off of.

 

“Wow, that’s pretty good,” she commented, noting how fresh everything tasted.

 

“If you think that’s good, you should try a slice of this tangerine. Fresh from one of the island’s very own tangerine trees. So succulent, so _juicy,_ ” he told her, and the way he emphasized the last word sent a tiny shiver through her.

 

He brought a slice to her lips, which she bit in half. A tiny droplet of juice slid languidly down his thumb as he held the fruit in place, waiting for her to finish. “Take it all,” he instructed quietly, his voice deep.

 

With a peek at the waitress, who was pretending with all of her might that she was not watching the pair, Hermione grinned wickedly. If he wanted to pretend to seduce her, she could dish it right back. She darted the tip of her tongue to the base of his thumb, tasting the sweet rivulet of juice as she went, before puckering her lips around the top of his finger and retrieving the tangerine slice.

 

Upon looking at the wizard’s eyes—pupils dilated wildly and the irises nearly black as silver became stormy grey—she realized that she had crossed over some imaginary threshold. There was no pretending any longer. The way his lips were parted to allow shallow puffs of breath to pass through, the way his thumb brushed over her bottom lip before he placed his hand back on her knee, his tongue gliding along his own lip as he evidently forced himself to look away. In that moment, he wanted her, and she knew it.

 

The feeling was mutual and that terrified Hermione. Her heart began thrumming at the thought of being so close to the wizard, once an arrogant bully but now a broken and tattered man. They kept silent for a few minutes, even as the waitress brought their actual meals, and she mulled over her body’s foreign reactions to the seemingly redemptive Death Eater.

 

Malfoy, who had been relaxed in his seat, leaned forward once more, using his fork to stab a piece of chicken from her salad and popping it his mouth pleasantly. “So, you’re going back to school in the fall. And what do you want to do after that? Save the world?”

 

“What, again?” she retorted, giving him a wide smile.

 

“You know, you’re pretty when you smile,” he told her, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

 

Hermione’s eyes darted over his head to where the initial waitress was curiously absent, only her friend left, mopping the floor. “The girl is gone. No one left to make jealous,” she told him slowly, her eyes dropping to his.

 

“I stand by my statement,” he confirmed, his grin crooked and sheepish.

 

The light outside was growing dimmer, the sky streaked with rose and gold rays. They had spent more time in the library and in the café than Hermione had thought. “We should probably head back. I’m sure your date is sometime soon.”

 

Malfoy checked the watch on his wrist and shrugged. “It was half an hour ago. We were going for an early dinner—she wakes with the sun to go to work.”

 

She knew she should feel something—guilt at keeping him distracted for so many hours, longing to be away from him, horror that he was so cavalier about leaving some hapless girl waiting on him. Instead, she felt agitation that he had even had a date in the first place and smugness at the fact that he had been so caught up in their day together that he had not bothered to glance at his watch once.

 

“You look awfully pleased with yourself, witch,” his low voice was a growl when he leaned into her.

 

“I’m just sorry to have kept you,” she replied, her smile revealing that she was anything but apologetic.

 

“I’m not,” he told her, placing some money in the center of the table and standing. “I found much better company.”

 

Hermione stood when he proffered his hand, smoothing her dress over her thighs as he led her from the café. Her head was spinning as she thought of his blown pupils, the little pants he had let out at the sight and feel of her lips suckling at his thumb. “Think we gave the waitress a good little show?” he asked jovially once they were back in the warm island air.

 

Her cheeks burned as she realized he was probably savoring the same exact moment in his own head. “I don’t see why it was necessary.”

 

“For all intents and purposes, you looked to be my girl. And she was incredibly rude when taking your order. That girl needed a quick lesson in why she shouldn’t toss herself at the first good-looking man to cross her path,” he told her as he gave a quick wave to the flower vendor, who was packing up his pushcart.

 

He slipped off his shoes and stowed them in his bag, his feet sinking deep within the rosy sands. “So now you think you’re good looking? Perhaps you _are_ still the haughty little ferret of yesteryear.”

 

“I didn’t see you objecting when you had my fingers in your mouth. Which was fucking sexy, by the way. And nearly criminal, given how much I enjoyed it,” he told her, his voice a little gruffer than he may have meant it to be.

 

Hermione could not believe the velvety praise rolling off his silver tongue. There was no jealous waitress lurking around the corner. There was no Theo or Blaise to impress or Harry to piss off. Just the two of them, walking along the beach as the sun was sinking low on the horizon, the setting entirely too romantic, yet dramatically alluring. And Malfoy was _still_ complimenting her. What in the bleeding hell did that even mean? Earlier, he had been trying to bed an entirely different witch and now he was telling her that he had thought her sexy. His mood had been light all day, so different from his usual countenance and the bright witch suspected that the island was working its magic on him.

 

“Have you seen Il Mare di Stella yet?” he asked her suddenly, breaking her from the confusing reverie she had been muddling in.

 

“I’m sorry—the what?” she asked, her brow knitting together in questioning.

 

“The Sea of Stars. Have you been down that way yet?” he clarified, pointing ahead of them.

 

“I’m not sure I know what you are talking about,” Hermione admitted, trying to wrack her brain for any mentioning of a sea of stars in the information brochure Harry had brought to Grimmauld Place that day.

 

“It’s a little stretch of the beach, just around the bend there, where the sea life is bioluminescent. Little sea fairies that bundle in clusters that mimic the stars,” the tone of his voice was both soothed at the thought and soothing to her soul.

 

“That sounds lovely,” she told him, scanning the beach in vain for their friends.

 

They had all left hours prior, Hermione knew. Malfoy cleared his throat. “If you don’t have anything better to do—no Dark Wizards to defeat or elven scarves to knit—I’m headed that way now. You could accompany me.”

 

Hermione got the distinct impression that the wizard did not want their day together to end—whether he was enjoying her company or simply did not want to be alone, she was uncertain. So, she walked alongside him, her hair blowing out behind her from under the crown of dahlias. _Flowers of personal strength, elegance, commitment. Change._ She had no desire to be alone just yet either.

 

“Your parents must be proud of you,” Malfoy’s drawl broke the silence between them.

 

“What?” her eyes shot to his face, searching for a hint of derision or cruelty.

 

He looked taken aback at the ferocity in her question as his face screwed up in confusion. “I’m sorry. I just meant…you’ve accomplished a lot in your life. And though they may not understand it all, surely they are proud.”

 

He did not know. How could he? Hermione let out a long breath. Looking to her left, toward the villas, regret bubbled within her at the fact that she had not run off into her suite and hid from the alluring, charming, confusing man next to her. She did not want to be alone, but she also did not want to dredge up this particular topic, either. “They don’t know I exist,” she answered, her voice tiny and meek.

 

“What do you—” Malfoy’s face showed understanding the moment the answer came to him and he paled even further in the golden sunset’s light. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

“That wasn’t the topic of Death Eater revels and meetings? Hunting down Hermione Granger’s missing kin?” she spat, instantly regretting the venom when he recoiled and hurt flashed across his face.

 

Hermione took in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“You did. And it’s okay,” he replied shortly, burying his hands in his pockets as they strolled. “I deserve that.”

 

“No. You don’t. I don’t know who you are…but you’re certainly not some sadistic villain from a children’s story.”

 

“I’m not the knight in shining armor, either,” he pointed out.

 

“No,” she admitted quietly, looking out at where the rose tones had darkened to violet against a midnight sky, the sunset.

 

They were silent for ten paces before Malfoy cleared his throat. “Have you thought about bringing them back? Do you know where they went?”

 

This topic was particularly painful for Hermione, but she found she didn’t cry and break down on his shoulder as she had with Harry and Ron. Malfoy was strong or at least trying to be, and some of that strength fed into her. “I sent them to Australia. And no…I haven’t tried.”

 

She could tell that he wanted to ask her, _Why?_ But she was grateful when his lips remained in a tight line. They walked along the water’s edge, the waves trickling over their bare feet. “You’re far more courageous than I ever knew. More than I could ever hope to be,” his voice was low as he spoke.

 

They came around a bend and before them, bright blue lights sparkled all along the shoreline. The sight of them, luminescent against the midnight backdrop of the waves as they ebbed and rushed, took Hermione’s breath away. She felt Malfoy’s gaze on her as her gasp sounded in the air, his eyes traveling over her face. “Wow. It’s incredible.”

 

A queer feeling shimmied through her body as she fought the compelling urge to take hold of his hand. Instead, she cradled her arms around her torso, though the night air was warm and balmy as ever. “Let’s move closer,” he told her, placing a hand on her lower back to guide her, sending fire shooting up her vertebrae and igniting every synapse in her brain.

 

They followed the waterline until they were standing in ankle deep water, the underwater fairy lights shimmering ahead of them. “We can wade in a little way,” Malfoy told her, sliding her bag from her shoulders and placing it next to his own in the sand.

 

He took a few steps into the water, stopping when the swell of a wave broke over his thighs. The wizard, his white-blond hair impossibly luminous in the moonlight, turned to look at her, a shadow cast over his face with the moon at his back. “The water’s warm, Granger. We won’t go far, and they won’t hurt you—they’re gentle creatures.”

 

Hermione crossed to where he stood, the bottom of her sundress floating in the shallow water as it climbed up her thighs. When she came to rest next to him, he ran his fingertips over the surface, leaving tiny trails in their wake. “Remain still and they’ll come closer,” he whispered, the moment calling for an enchanted serenity.

 

The witch did as she was told, and watched as hundreds of electric blue bulbs, no bigger than her pinky nail, swarmed around them. The tiny beings tickled as they brushed against her skin and she giggled at the feeling. She could see Malfoy’s crooked half-smile as he watched her trickle her fingers over the lights. “The Italians call it the Sea of Stars because they bear such a strong resemblance to the skies above. But I disagree. I think the stars hold secrets all their own,” he told her, turning his face up and searching the visible constellations.

 

“You would think that, being named after the mighty dragon constellation,” she teased, searching the north for the cluster of stars.

 

“Hey!” Malfoy flicked water in her direction, splashing it over her front. “You’re one to talk about namesakes, _Hermione_. Daughter of Helen—the most beautiful woman in all of creation. Hopefully, your father came up with the name.”

 

“Actually. He _did_ ,” Hermione retorted, sniffing once as she tried to repress the thought of her father.

 

“Oh shit, Granger. I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” Malfoy told her, wading closer to where she stood, the lights spreading out and away from them as he disturbed their peace.

 

Hermione readily accepted his apology, knowing he was truly regretful of his words. “It doesn’t matter,” she choked. “At least I’m not the fallen dragon, tossed into the sky and frozen for all eternity.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as she gave him a slight smile, one she hoped he could see and flicked water across his front just as he had done. Hermione would never admit it aloud, but she thought his being named after a constellation of stars was quite fitting—he had a bright light within him, fighting to shine amidst a life of darkness. The constellation was circumpolar, never falling below the horizon, always visible. His light was ever-present, despite the way the dark abyss fought to overtake him. The witch could see this more and more with every minute she spent in his presence.

 

The pair stared at the stars—Hermione at the ones around their waists, Draco at the skies above—a quiet settling over them as the warm waves worked to absolve them of their morbid and sullen thoughts. There was a gentle hum of magic, coursing through ley lines beneath them, energizing the water around them, buzzing in the air encompassing them. It was evident from the moment they had portkeyed onto the island. It had been strongest the day of the summer solstice, but it remained ever present in the days that followed.

 

Even now, Hermione could not help but feel that this particular magic was something more than she had ever felt. Something ancient, raw, wild. It mixed and mingled with the magic that coursed through her veins and, silently, she wondered if Malfoy felt it, too. His silvery eyes scanned the clusters above before he looked down at the petite witch, giving her a simpering smile that left her heart racing and her cheeks flushing.

 

Draco Malfoy was many things—the fallen dragon. The disgraced Death Eater. The redemptive spirit, broken and shattered like glass. The powerful and intellectual wizard. The delectably puzzling man.

 

But in that moment, he was just a man and she was just a woman, sandwiched between two worlds—the vast, limitless expanse above and the shadowy depths beyond and below the sea’s surface. Nothing mattered at that moment—not the War or its outcome, not blood status or lack thereof, not their turbulent past. All that registered with her was that she had found someone to share in _their_ world—the _In Between_ —with, for however brief a time. It was in that moment that her hand did trace over the back of his, wanting to share just a few, calm moments of reprieve with the only man who truly understood her.

 

o-o-o

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

 

Theo plopped down at the table across from Potter and between Blaise and Draco. He set a large velvet sack in the middle of the table. “What’s this?” Draco asked, leaning forward and looking into the bag.

 

Small square blocks filled it, each one having something written on them. “I found this little gem in the muggle town. With Blaise’s help, we translated the instructions into English,” Theo told them, retrieving a block to show Harry and Draco.

 

_Kiss a girl._

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Kiss a girl? Is that the best you can do?”

 

“We are playing with Granger and Lovegood,” Theo reminded him as Potter paled a little next to him.

 

“I’m personally hoping Granger pulls that particular block,” Blaise gave Draco a wink as Potter’s eyes widened.

 

“What’s the matter, Potter? Never played suggestive games in the Gryffindor Common Room?” Theo asked, pulling a die from his pocket and tapping his wand against it to engrave each of their names on it.

 

“Is there a matching block for ‘kiss a boy’ then?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as they slipped down his sweaty face. “That doesn’t worry any of you?”

 

“I’m hoping Granger pulls _that_ particular block,” Theo remarked, now trying to rile the raven-haired wizard.

 

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t speak of her that way,” Harry told them, glancing Draco’s way.

 

The blond sat back in his chair, staring his rival down until he turned his bespectacled head. Blaise replaced the pieces into the bag and jiggled them with a grin. “How was your date, Nott?” he asked amiably as he sat back as well, the men waiting for the women to arrive to eat dinner.

 

“Mate, let me tell you. That girl could suck a snitch through a porcupine quill,” Theo responded to which Draco and Blaise laughed and Harry choked on his water.

 

“All right, there?” Blaise asked him, clapping him on the back as he waved off the assistance.

 

“Did the fiery little redhead never show you how she could Chase the proverbial quaffle into her goal then?” Theo asked and Draco watched Potter’s reaction carefully.

 

The Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die turned a fierce scarlet, his eyes wide as he took another sip of water. “Let’s just say, she knew how to play all of the positions.”

 

Theo and Blaise laughed heartily, while Draco rose and made his way to the bar to order a firewhiskey and begin his night of binge drinking early. They were just men, sitting around a table and speaking as he had so many times with his friends. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he would divulge the same information about Granger—Draco fantasized about hexing the git’s tongue if he spoke vulgarly of the witch.

 

When he returned to the table the girls were making their way toward it as well. Granger ruffled Potter’s hair but came to sit next to Draco, with Luna on her other side. “I can only imagine what ‘suck start a Nimbus 2002’ is referring to, but I think we’re going to move on in conversation,” Granger told the table at large and Draco snorted a laugh next to her.

 

“I agree,” Potter said gratefully, letting out a long breath as Lovegood giggled. “They’ve got ziplining on the mountain. I was thinking about heading out to do that on Friday.”

 

“What is that?” Blaise questioned as he lazily made himself a plate of food from where he sat.

 

“Well. Muggles put a harness on and jump off of a platform and slide down a cord alongside the mountain. This is on the wizarding side, so there is no harness and you just stick your hands to the handles. And you can also go up over trees and sideways over the river,” Potter explained.

 

“You can count me out,” Granger piped up.

 

“Why? Afraid the wind will effectively cause your curls to strangle you?” Draco asked, tugging at one of them.

 

Potter narrowed his eyes at him and Draco felt a smug satisfaction at the sight. “’Mione is afraid of heights.”

 

“You’ve ridden on thestrals and dragons but you’re afraid of heights?” Luna asked, looking up with her large and inquisitive blue eyes.

 

Granger, clearly uncomfortable with showing weakness, sniffed and stood to make herself a plate. “I just won’t be attending. Your need for adrenaline is going to get you hurt one of these days, Harry,” she admonished.

 

“I think it’s wonderful,” Luna told him as the brunette witch walked away from the table. “I’ll go with you, Harry. I would love to see if we could find the gibbardlies swarming above the trees.”

 

Potter gave the blond an appreciative smile, one that made Draco want to hex him on the spot. As she went to retrieve a plate, he wondered why Potter was constantly watching or smiling at the blonde when he had a witch like Granger? _Fool._ Draco rose and went to where Granger was. “You don’t like heights?” he asked lightly, the teasing entering his tone. “Explains why you weren’t on the Gryffindor Team.”

 

“I get sick to my stomach,” she replied shortly, giving him a look that dared him to prod further.

 

“Well. If you didn’t have any other plans, we could go into town again,” he offered, knowing he should not be trying so desperately to spend time with another wizard’s girl.

 

In the six days since they had eaten at the café and waded into the Sea of Stars, Draco had not been able to get the witch out of his mind. He had not been able to be alone with her again, but that did not stop him from thinking of her constantly. Her voice echoed through his head as he tried to fall asleep—her swotty little quips, her soft-spoken way of avoiding conversations she was uncomfortable with, the melodic sound of her laugh. He longed to run his fingers through her hair once more and to watch her twirl daintily under the stars, kicking water at him playfully. There were even times he woke from nightmares where he watched her writhing under his aunt’s wand. Each time that happened, he would picture her bashful smile as he complimented her. Merlin, he had it bad. And for Granger—a taken witch, a war heroine, a swot, an incredible woman. _Shit_. When had things gotten so far out of hand?

 

The witch in question was looking at him over the fruit bar, smiling as she replied, “Sure. You weren’t _terrible_ company last time.”

 

 _“Weren’t terrible?’_ Granger, are you trying to woo me?” he asked cheekily, giving her a half grin.

 

“You are an incorrigible prat, you know that?” she told him with a roll of her eyes.

 

“Still. I’m not terrible—you just said it,” an arrogant shrug of the shoulders accompanied his words.

 

“I take it back.”

 

“Oh, no, pet. Your words are out in the cosmos now,” he winked and turned to go back to the table and he could feel her stare on his back the entire way.

 

She saddled into the seat next to him, brushing his knee with hers, the innocent skin on skin contact making his groin twitch. He listened idly to Theo, Blaise and Potter discuss the Italian Quidditch team as he tucked into his meal. After a few moments of mindless chatter, Granger leaned into him, her breath tickling his ear when she whispered, “They’re staring at you.”

 

Draco’s eyes went to hers and she nodded toward two witches who were holding hands as they strode past, both looking invitingly toward him. “Shall we give them a show, too?” he teased, looking back at the witch beside him.

 

Granger quirked both eyebrows suggestively and placed a tangerine slice between her lips, biting it in half before pulling the entire thing into her mouth. She let out a loud laugh as he smirked, adjusting the way he was seated to brush her ankle with his under her chair. If looks could kill, Draco would surely be dead because Potter was glaring at him so vehemently he could nearly feel his skin burning.

 

“Mate, if you do not go after that two-for, you are barmier than I thought. I will curse you out of your misery now,” Theo told him, staring after the two witches.

 

“Curse away,” Draco told him, spreading his arms to show he would give up no fight. “I’m not interested.”

 

“Have you fucked _anyone_ since we arrived, Malfoy? Besides your own fist?” Theo asked him, waving his wand to clear his plate away and pulling the velvet bag from beside Blaise.

 

“I told you I did not want to fuck my sorrows away by burying my prick in random witches,” the blond whispered forcefully.

 

“Your loss, mate. Really. The women here…you should see their grooming techniques. Smooth as glass,” the burly wizard responded.

 

“I hope you get gonorrhea or some horrific strain of wizarding syphilis,” Granger told him, wrinkling her nose at his vulgarity.

 

“Get the wand out of your arse, sweetheart. Or into it, if that’s what you’re about. And loosen the fuck up,” Theo responded, giving her a wink and waving his wand to assemble the bricks into a tower.

 

Granger rolled her eyes at him and Draco leaned forward, retrieving a strawberry from her plate. “Ignore him,” he said, biting into the fruit. “He’s not even housebroken.”

 

The rigid little bookworm watched his lips as he ate the strawberry and he saw her swallow hard as she looked away. Harry was frowning at the Granger and Theo and Blaise were watching her watch Draco, Theo’s eyebrow raised in amusement. “Well, if the two of you are _quite_ done, we could begin playing the game?” Potter voiced.

 

Draco waved his wand and his and Granger’s plates both disappeared. Theo stood. “That bartender is positively ravishing. I’m going to go and make a friend and get us a round of drinks.”

 

“How do we play this?” Luna asked, eyeing the tower of little wooden bricks curiously.

 

“It’s simple,” Blaise told her. “You select a brick and slide it out. You have to do whatever it says on the brick. The plus indicates how many drinks to take. If the instructions involve someone else, you roll the die and whoever’s name you roll is the other participant.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” the blonde responded.

 

“Theo is making friends with the bartender. We’re fucked,” Blaise told her, running a hand over his face.

 

“There’s only but so many pieces,” Harry pointed out.

 

“There’s endless firewhiskey, bourbon and werewolf made grappa. Make no mistake—we will be lucky to make it out alive. Hope you all packed hangover potions,” Draco commented with a sly grin, watching as Granger frowned a little.

 

Just on time, Theo came back, levitating a gigantic tray with various shot glasses, tumblers and bottles of red, clear and amber liquids. “I’m fucked,” was all Potter said, causing the table to burst into rumbling laughter.

 

“With any luck, you will be,” Theo responded, a pointed look toward the two girls.

 

Draco was confused as to Theo’s insinuations. As though Potter could just slide between the two witches languidly. He felt a flare of anger at the thought of him double timing Granger and tried to remind himself that he needed to mind his own business. “Alright, wands in the bucket,” Blaise told them, holding out a bucket and dropping his wand into it. “No cheating. Veritaserum in the booze, too, by the way.”

 

Everyone dropped their wands into it and Blaise set it aside. “When the tower tumbles down, the loser takes five consecutive shots of a little concoction I thought up whilst chatting with the illustrious Cara at the bar,” Theo said, grinning wickedly. “I hope you three can hold your alcohol.”

 

Granger seemed to pale a shade as she wiggled in her seat. Draco brushed his knee against her, seemingly by accident and smirked as she pushed his leg back, letting him know she was on to him. “I’ll go first,” Luna announced, and Blaise clapped his hands together once, looking gleeful.

 

She slid a piece out carefully, Theo and Harry heckling her the entire time. “’Make a sex noise; plus one,’” she read aloud and then looked up at the others. “Really?”

 

Granger looked at her in horror, obviously anticipating her own turn. Potter raised an eyebrow at her and the three Slytherins stared in anticipation. Draco laughed to himself. The airy little Ravenclaw had a faint blush on her cheeks. She opened her mouth and let out a terrifying screech. Theo’s mouth fell open and he looked on in abject horror. “What in the bloody hell was that?” he asked when she had finished.

 

Lovegood shrugged. “The mating call of the grindylow.”

 

Draco spit some of the firewhiskey he had been nursing out when he began laughing, burning his nose as the entire table became raucous with laughter. Luna looked confused and turned to Granger, who had her head down on her fist on the table, her shoulders shaking. “What? You said make a sex noise!”

 

“A human one, Luna!” Granger told her, wiping tears from her eyes.

 

“Well—it should have been more specific!” the blond replied, her cheeks scarlet as she fought her own smile.

 

“Take a drink, Lovegood,” Blaise told her, handing her a shot.

 

When the laughter had died down, it was time for Harry to go. He tapped one brick and slid it out with ease. “’Plus two; left.”

 

Blaise handed him two shot glasses and took two for himself as the person to Harry’s left. “Bottom’s up, mate,” Blaise told him, shooting the two drinking in rapid succession.

 

Potter grimaced just watching the Italian and then shook his head. “So fucked,” and he did the same, wincing at the burn of firewhiskey in his throat.

 

Blaise pulled and all of the men at the table took a shot. Theo, always with a flair for dramatics, sat on the edge of the table and made a show of sliding the piece out expertly from the center of the tower. “’Feed someone else a drink.’” Taking the die, he shook it between his cupped hands, first on the left side of his head and then on the right. He tossed it on the table in front of Draco and pointed to it. “What does it say?”

 

Draco read the name. Of course. “’Hermione,’” he stated blankly.

 

Granger groaned audibly and Theo grinned, retrieving a tall shot glass of grappa. He went around the table to where she sat and slid her seat out with her in it. “Oh, dearest Granger. What fun it is to corrupt that spit-shined image you’ve built up,” he told her, perching himself on her knee, carefully holding his weight off of her with one arm behind her on the chair.

 

He held the shot glass up and she stared him down for a brief moment before putting her lips on the rim. Theo tipped the glass as she gulped the liquid down and then slammed it against the table. “You took that like a pro, love. Perhaps you’re not as squeaky clean as you portray?” he asked, giving her a half smile and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

 

“Wouldn’t you just love to know?” she asked in a tone that made Draco’s groin twitch once more, running her hand up Theo’s thigh in mock seduction before pushing him off of her knee.

 

“You little imp,” he replied, laughing jovially from where he landed on the floor.

 

“Nott,” Potter warned from beside her. “Have a seat.”

 

“It’s our dearest Draco’s turn,” Blaise said, gesturing toward the tower.

 

Draco pursed his lips—what an idiotic game. Couldn’t they all just pound down the shots until they blacked out like real wizards? He tapped a brick and slid it easily from its resting place. “’Body shot; 2 to left; plus one,’” Draco read and then he slammed his palm against the table. “Dammit, Nott.”

 

He put his hands in front of him in surrender. “Hey. I didn’t make the game up, mate. Luna, you okay with this?” he asked the witch two seats to Draco’s left.

 

The Ravenclaw smiled widely, demurely, her usually light countenance growing ever cloudier with her tipsiness as she sipped at a glass of firewhiskey. “What witch hasn’t thought of Draco Malfoy licking their neck?” she asked, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she giggled at the truth serum’s ability to draw the truth from her.

 

Blaise let out a howling laugh as Potter’s mood turned sour. Granger sat primly on the edge of her seat, folding her hands before her. “We don’t even have tequila,” Draco grumbled. “Or limes.”

 

“Improvisation, Malfoy,” Theo said, retrieving a shot of firewhiskey and his wand, flicking the latter toward the fruit bar. A few slices of peaches nestled themselves pleasantly in front of Lovegood. “This will be a sweet and spicy body shot, just like our very own little sweet and spicy fae,” Theo said, grinning wolfishly in Luna’s direction as he slid the sugar bowl her way as well.

 

Draco, defeated and having no more arguments left seeing as he had a willing partner in this stupid task, stood slowly. Luna turned in her seat and Draco knelt in front of her, feeling Granger’s piercing gaze on his back the entire time. He scooted the shot glass of firewhiskey closer to him on the table and Theo tutted. “From the cleavage, Malfoy. Do it properly.”

 

Draco glared at Theodore as Luna wedged the glass into her shirt. Potter was glaring at him equally hard. “I’m sorry, Luna,” he muttered, to which she responded, “I’m not,” and shrugged.

 

He tried to ignore the feel of Granger behind him as he took a pinch of sugar from the bowl and Lovegood tilted her head to the side, swiping her finger against the peaches before rubbing the slick on her neck for him stick the sugar to. The crystals clung to the peach juice and he sighed. _Nothing to it, but to do it._ Mustering every bit of sex appeal he still harnessed and actively swallowing down the thought that there was another witch at the table he would rather be licking and sucking on, he gave Lovegood his sexiest grin. She smiled back and placed a slice of peach between her lips.

 

Draco braced himself as he crouched before her by placing his hands on either of her thighs. He leaned in and licked at the sugar slick across Lovegood’s neck, taking three swipes of the tongue to clear the sugar and then added one extra just for good measure. He quickly brought his mouth to the shot glass and expertly took it into his mouth, tipping his head back quickly to gulp down the liquid contents and when it was empty he dropped it in her lap and went for the peach between her lips. As he took it, his lips brushed against hers and the other two Slytherin men erupted in cheers.

 

The blond wizard stood as Luna laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Potter was seething quietly behind her as she turned in her chair. He refused to meet Granger’s gaze as he took his seat between her and Theo. “Impressive,” Granger commented.

 

“You should see the way I could lap up tequila from a witch’s belly button in two swipes of the tongue if you think that’s impressive, Granger,” Theo told her, gesturing toward the tower.

 

“Daphne Greengrass followed you around for months after that,” Blaise laughed and the three Slytherins shared in a laugh at the memory.

 

“At least it wasn’t _Astoria_ ,” Nott pointed out, grinning when Draco shuddered.

 

“Astoria? Don’t you mean Pansy?” Granger asked, poking at a brick in the center of the tower carefully.

 

“Astoria. Pansy. Tracey,” Blaise began ticking off the names on his fingers.

 

“We get the idea. Malfoy got around,” Potter muttered.

 

The blond shrugged, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. “Yes, but Astoria followed Draco around like he’d fed her a love potion,” Blaise announced.

 

“You didn’t, did you?” Potter inquired as Lovegood ran her fingers through his hair, causing a blush to rise creep from his neck and into his jet-black hairline.

 

“Of course not, you feckless moron. Believe it or not, there  _are_ women who find me attractive,” he retorted.

 

“Not half as attractive as you find yourself,” Granger quipped next to him, reading the instructions on her brick. “’Truth or dare; plus two.’”

 

She groaned and grabbed the die from in front of Draco. Hermione nearly tossed it at Theo, who looked upset when he read, “Blaise.”

 

Blaise grinned and licked his lips as he pushed two toward Granger. “Well, truth or dare?” he asked, and Draco could tell his friend was calculating something wicked in case she chose dare.

 

“Truth,” she said predictably.

 

Blaise and Theo both looked a little deflated. “Fine,” the Italian began, “if you could go home with anyone at the table tonight, who would it be?”

 

Draco’s eyes flickered to her, where she bit her lip and looked apologetically toward Potter. She mumbled something and Blaise leaned forward over the table dramatically cupping his ear. “I’m sorry. I must be a trite deaf. I didn’t hear you say Zabini.”

 

“Because I said ‘Draco,’” she voiced aloud, her face flaming a violent shade of puce. “It’s your turn, Luna.”

 

“Your loss, _amore mio_. I could have shown you exactly why they call me a gentleman in the streets but an Italian Stallion in the sheets,” he slurred, and Luna bent forward to retrieve a block.

 

Draco was staring with his mouth agape at the woman beside him. She was actively refusing to turn her head toward him, to even acknowledge his presence. Granger looked as though she wanted the floor to swallow her alive. His eyes wandered from her to her bespectacled friend, who was watching Lovegood. The dark-haired man was looking quite pissed by this point. What kind of weird relationship did he and Granger have that she was okay with him flirting openly with Luna? Surely, she noticed—did it not bother her? It bothered Draco inexplicably. “’Kiss; left; plus one.’”

 

Lovegood looked up to Potter, who looked as though Christmas had come early. Luna made no show and had no hesitation about her task whatsoever. She grabbed ahold of Potter’s face and thrust her fingers into his hair as she kissed him flush on the mouth. “Merlin,” Theo croaked across the table.

 

Draco dropped his eyes from the two and looked to Granger who was still refusing to look up. How she must feel to watch her boyfriend snog another girl, even in good fun during a game. Draco nudged her with his elbow and she looked up at him for the first time since her admission. He placed a glass of cold water in front of her, noticing she was a little green around the gills. “You okay?” he asked her gently.

 

She nodded and scoffed at Lovegood and Potter’s antics. One of her fingers flicked Potter’s forehead. “Why don’t you come up for air now?” she asked, making it sound more like a demand.

 

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Potter replied sheepishly.

 

“It’s your turn,” Granger told him strictly.

 

Potter tapped a brick out and the tower wobbled ever so slightly. “’Kiss a boy; plus zero.’”

 

He groaned and Granger smirked. “Fuck. Well that backfired,” Theo told him, tossing him the die.

 

Potter rolled it, muttering, “Fuck me running. I knew this was going to happen—I fucking told you all. Blaise.”

 

He stood where he was and shot a glare to the other four people at the table. Draco sat back and folded his arms across his chest. It was hardly a secret that Blaise had favored the company of a bloke on the rare occasion, but Potter looked wholly uncomfortable. He walked to the Italian man, who stood and greeted him by grabbing his face and kissing him flush on the lips, tipping him backward dramatically.

 

When he turned Potter upright, the man had to right his glasses. Blaise laughed at the dazed and violated look on his face. “Beat that Lovegood.”

 

The Italian plucked a brick from the very top of the tower. “’Go topless; plus one.’ Another one that backfired.”

 

He dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it across the table at Granger. She rolled her eyes and Draco felt her skirt flutter against the skin of his calf as she stretched her legs out before her. “Hey!” the bartender called to the shirtless Zabini. “No shoes, no shirt, no service!”

 

“We’ve been serviced enough for one night,” he called back, gesturing to the still half-full bottles of alcohol on the table, to which Nott said, “Speak for yourself.”

 

Theo pulled a brick whilst pouring more grappa into a tumbler. “’Chug.’ Don’t mind if I do,” he said, downing his fresh drink in three gulps and waving to Draco to take his turn.

 

The tower was wobbling pretty significantly, and Draco had to fight the urge to use wandless magic to keep it still. He was wobbling nearly as bad after all of the alcohol he’d already drunk. He tapped a brick a sliver of a centimeter at a time, Potter and Blaise heckling him. Theo was drumming on the table, trying to create vibrations to knock the tower over on him. When the brick came free and the tower remained intact, the blond grinned. Until he read his task. “’Name one sexual fantasy; plus two.’”

 

“Of yours,” Blaise clarified, giving Lovegood a pointed look.

 

His heart began pounding. “I don’t want to answer that.”

 

“You afraid, Malfoy?” Potter taunted. “We all took our turns—I had to kiss that imbecile,” he said, pointing to Blaise.

 

“Don’t bother lying. Remember, the drinks have all been laced with a drop of veritaserum,” Theo announced.

 

Draco’s eyes darted to him. “I fucking hate you,” he told Theo as the burly wizard handed him his two shots. “Roleplaying,” he answered quickly.

 

Draco stared at the table before him, his face burning as he felt every set of eyes on him. He took one shot and was about to take the next when Granger asked, “What kind of roleplaying do you fantasize about, Draco?”

 

Merlin, strike him down now! He could feel the veritaserum pulling the answer from his lips before he could stop it. “Quidditch player and fan. Professor and student. Dominant and submissive.”

 

“Pureblood and mudblood?” Granger supplied, and his eyes darted to hers, his lips falling open.

 

“Hermione!” Harry admonished from behind her, his pitch high with horror as he swayed a little in his chair.

 

“I would never—” Draco began, but then he saw it. A mischievous little twinkle in her eye, smoldering in the earthy depths. Her mouth was twitching like she was fighting a smile and she raised one eyebrow at him challengingly. “Why, got a thing for ex-Death Eaters? Or just one in particular?” he countered, dragging the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and quirking a brow.

 

“Malfoy!” Potter screeched, standing up.

 

“Sit down, Harry. It’s only harmless banter,” Granger instructed and Lovegood pulled his arm until he was seated once more.

 

Draco downed his second shot and looked to his two Slytherin partners. Blaise was chuckling to himself and Theo was smirking as he took a free shot. Lovegood rose from the table, turning to Potter. “Kaleidoscope eyes,” she mumbled, and Potter gave her one nod of the head and a drunken half-smile.

 

What in the hell was the blonde even talking about? Apparently, Potter understood clearly as he watched her walk away. Draco shook his head, irritation at the two-timing Gryffindor niggling at his chest once more. He flicked the tower, knocking it all down and retrieved his wand and the glass decanter of grappa. “I’m taking this. You five split my punishment shots instead. I don’t fancy dying from whatever concoction you came up with, Nott.”

 

And with that, Draco left the table behind, headed outside where he could get deeper breaths of the fresh air and clear his mind of the snarky, teasing little witch. He sauntered over the sand until he found a hammock, hanging between two trees ten meters from the sea of stars. He climbed in, uncorking the liquor and taking a swig. He swayed back and forth as he stared up at the skies. The skies showed no stars, clouded over with heavy storm clouds instead. Heat lightning spread across in branching webs, turning the grey clouds and midnight skies brilliant shades of oranges and purples as it went. The fuzziness of inebriation typically offered Draco a few moments of reprieve from the thoughts that plagued him, but he found that all he could think about was some strange roleplay where Granger wore nothing but a plaid skirt and begged for an ‘O’ in potions.

 

o-o-o

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

 

Draco woke to bright sunlight pouring in through the windows of his villa. It nearly blinded him as a headache pounded so forcefully he could feel every beat of his heart in his temples. The bile rose in his throat as he tried to remember how exactly he had gotten from the hammock on the beach and into his bed and could vaguely recall trying to choke his password out at least a half-dozen times before he finally got the door open. He fumbled on the nightstand for his wand, eyes closed tightly as he waved it toward the French doors and windows, casting a tinted ward over the entirety.

 

The light dimmed significantly, and he dragged his body upright into a sitting position, rubbing his forehead as he tried to quell his nausea. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a tiny vial on the nightstand, pearlescent pink liquid swirling within. At least the drunken-Draco had the forethought to prepare the hangover elixir within reach for himself. He tipped it back quickly, the liquid much too bitter for something that looked so pretty.

 

The relief was almost instantaneous, cooling him from the top of his head, inch by inch to his toes. His stomach still was not feeling up to eating much, so he pried himself out of the bed completely, surprised when he saw that he was fully nude. Looking around the room, he saw his clothing strewn about. With a grumble at his dulling headache, he trudged to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. Breathing steadily as he placed the coffee beans and water in the cup, he tapped the rim with his wand and it mixed into a pleasantly fragrant cappuccino.

 

Draco retrieved a piece of toast and made his way to the windows, darkened with his tinted ward and looked out over the sea. His stomach settled as he nibbled at the bread, watching the water’s surface sparkle. A movement to the bottom right of the window caught his attention and he watched as Hermione Granger stepped out of a set of French doors onto a balcony two floors below. So that was her villa? Draco could not recall ever having seen her on the balcony before.

 

Yet, there she was, holding a book and a towel, looking around to make sure no one was watching from any of the surrounding balconies. Draco stepped behind the curtains when she looked directly at his window, though he knew she could not see him standing there behind the darkened glass. Satisfied that she was alone, she set her things down on a table alongside the lounge chair and pulled her dress up and over her head, folding it neatly and stowing it on the table as well.

 

Draco had to brace himself against the wall as he peered from around the curtains to where Granger stood, clad in a tiny white bikini. The contrast of the bathing suit against her golden skin told him that she must regularly sunbathe. If she had such a tantalizing piece of swimwear, why in the hell did she wear those conservative one pieces to the beach? He set his coffee mug down, no longer interested in coffee when he could drink in the glorious sight before him.

 

The wizard watched her back and the firm swell of her arse in the revealing bikini bottoms, willing her to turn around so he could glimpse her from the front. Her curves were mind-blowing from his view, but in his fading hangover-haze, he desperately wanted to know how magnificent those pert tits would look clad in nothing more than a few triangles of fabric. Feeling slightly voyeuristic, Draco watched as she retrieved her tub of sun potion and sat primly on the side of the lounge chair with her back facing him. Granger scooped her wild mane of curls into a messy bun atop her head and then tugged at the strings around her neck.

 

Draco’s fingers pressed into the wall beside the window as he leaned so close to the glass that his nose nearly touched it. As her tits bounced free of the fabric and she undid the strings around her back, arching so that he could see the swells on either side of her thin frame, his free hand went of its own accord to wrap firmly around his cock. She put the top with her dress and retrieved the tub of sun potion, opening it and inhaling its fragrance—creamy cocoa and shea, he knew from their day at the beach.

 

She took a large dollop from the tub and began rubbing it on her arms, and Draco matched his own hand’s movements to the swipes of hers. When Granger brought another scoop to her chest and began rubbing and massaging it into her own tits, the wizard drew his bottom lip between his teeth and removed his hand from around his cock. He put his forehead against his upper arm as he remained leaning against the wall.

 

What the fuck was he doing? The witch—whom Draco had grown to admire for her intelligence, her wittiness, her bravery and her beauty—deserved more than some creep watching her from his window. Granger was Potter’s girl on top of everything else, throwing a further complication into Draco’s growing infatuation.

 

Feeling anger at himself, at Potter, at the world, Draco turned and smacked the coffee mug from the table, shattering the glass and splattering the coffee within. On an island inhabited by some of the finest specimens of magical women, he just had to go and fall for the one girl he could never have.

 

Raking a hand through his hair, Draco went into the bathroom and ran the water for a shower. As he climbed in, he tried to think of anything else as he began lathering his own skin. The weather—which made him think of the way a tiny bead of sweat had chased down Granger’s neck as they had walked along the beach. The activities the island had to offer—he and Granger were heading into town together again the following day and he silently wondered if she might wear one of her more revealing sundresses. Drinking himself into oblivion—he pictured her face as she admitted she would bring him home over everyone else at the table the night before.

 

Every topic he tried to think of only led back to the alluring woman. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to turn his thoughts to anything else. But as he stood there, all he could see was her sitting on the mezzanine. The intoxicating shade of golden brown her skin was turning with so much sunshine against a stark white bikini.

 

_Draco could easily imagine his pale skin against her much darker tan as he ran his hands over her bare back and sides, dragging the cocoa-scented potion over her skin. Naked, he sat behind her, his legs straddling either side of her hips, his cock brushing against her lower back as he massaged her skin._

_He kissed and sucked at the crook of her shoulder, grazing his teeth along as one hand went up to pinch her nipple. His other hand untied the strings of her bottoms, one at a time. His hand returned to her body, running down over her abdomen before tracing a path to dip one finger into her pussy—smooth as glass and already wet for him._

Draco groaned, and drawing a ragged breath, he stifled his guilt and thoughts to let the scene play out in his mind. His hand firmly wrapped around his cock once more, he leaned his back against the wall. His eyes closed tightly as he fucked his own hand with long, slippery strokes.

 

_Granger let out a series of sultry sounding moans, pleading with him to slide a second finger in to join the first, his thumb rubbing circles over her clit. As she began to shake, her orgasm building, Draco pulled her to sit fully in his lap. His cock pressed up into her, her tight, slick heat enveloping him, and she let out a low moan between shallow breaths. “Fuck,” she hissed, leaning into him as he thrust up into her._

_Granger came unraveled around him, panting his name as she rolled her hips against his as she rode out the waves. She rose once her legs had stopped quaking, giving him a delectable view of her lighter arse, her striking tan lines making his mouth water as she turned around and crooked a finger, beckoning him forth. He stood as she leaned over the balcony railing, resting her elbows against it as she spread her legs. He ran his fingers over her slick center once more before grabbing ahold of her waist and snapping his hips forward, slamming into her._

 

Draco was biting his lip once more, nearly bruising it with the force. His cock was growing steadily harder, the tip already glistening as he thrust his hips into his fist in time with the thrusts of his fantasy.

_She groaned and begged for him to go harder until he was at a tempo he could barely stand. The sight of her tits bouncing, the coquettish smile she gave him as she looked over her shoulder at him, the ‘o’ her lips formed as he hit a particularly deep thrust. He snapped his hips a few more times before spilling into her._

Draco thrust into his fist a few more times as he thought of running his hands over her supple arse, watching his cock slide out of her, slick with their pleasures. When he came, his entire body felt like it was tingling with a fire only she could draw from him. With a few indolent strokes, he had finished, still leaning against the wall as he caught his breath.

 

The tension that had left his body, all of the relief he felt after releasing months of pent-up anger, frustrations, sadness, and desire, was short lived. He scrubbed his body after he regained his footing, nearly turning his skin pink with the efforts. Draco felt disgusted with his actions, guilt consuming him as he thought about what he had done. He felt as though he had violated her, watching her from his window and then allowing himself to get caught up in such a fantasy.

 

When he climbed out of the shower, Draco dressed quickly, avoiding the windows and French doors as though the glass would disappear and he would be sucked into a vortex if he went within ten feet of them. His mind battled itself as flashes of what she could look like on her back, lazily reading in the sunshine cut into his self-deprecating thoughts. He really was a despicable excuse for a man, having a wank to another man’s witch after violating her privacy in such a manner.

 

Downing a second vial of elixir, he quickly descended the stairs leading to his villa and ambled into the bright sunshine. He took in a few deep breaths of the refreshing air, almost able to taste the salt on his tongue. The sunlight was still too bright for him as his hangover ebbed, so he ducked his head as he walked across the sand, trying to draw in long breaths to relieve his stomach ache. He just needed a banana and some ginger tea and to drive his fist right into Theodore Nott’s face.

 

He was trudging over the sand, the feel of it entirely too scratchy and his mood souring further. As he passed a bright violet villa he heard a familiar voice and a feminine giggle. “I had a really great time, Harry.”

 

Draco’s eyes shot up to the source of the voice and saw Potter and Lovegood kissing on the stoop of the villa, he wearing the same clothing he had been the night before and she only wearing a thin robe. Potter ran his hands over her sides like he had been doing it all night and Draco suspected that he _had._ That scar-headed, two-timing, son-of-a-dead-bitch.

 

Luna slipped into the building, giving Potter a simpering smile as she closed the door. He stared at the door for a moment before shoving a hand through his hair and turning to go toward his own villa. Draco narrowed his eyes at the other man’s back, willing him to burst into flame. Who did he think he was, treating Granger in such a manner? As much as he fought to keep to himself and not concern himself in others’ business, he had seen enough. She deserved better than this prickless moron.

 

“Oi! Potter!” he called angrily after the raven-haired git.

 

Potter turned, and his countenance grew sheepish as he glanced back at the purple house and then to Draco. He was busted, and he knew it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Malfoy. You look like shit.”

 

“I’m going to knock the shit out of you in a few minutes if you don’t come up with a damn fine reason why you’re leaving Lovegood’s place in yesterday’s clothing,” Draco replied between clenched teeth.

 

Potter’s brow knitted together in confusion. “I hardly think what I do with a woman is any of your business.”

 

“What are you doing? Why would you do this to Hermione? Hasn’t she risked enough for you, proven her worth time and again? How could you hurt her in such a manner?” Draco demanded, feeling the animosity growing within him.

 

Potter looked even more confused than when Draco had first stopped him. “Hermione? Why would Hermione care if I’m seeing Luna? She likes her.”

 

“What in the hell kind of weird relationship are you two in where she lets you walk all over her? Is her self-esteem that low, that she lets you have your way with every other witch as long as you come back to her? What have you and Weasley _done_ to her?” Draco nearly yelled, attracting the attention of a couple walking alongside them.

 

Potter stared at him for a long moment before understanding flashed across his face and he burst out laughing, harsh barks that rattled Draco’s brain. “Malfoy, Hermione and I are not together,” he spoke slowly, as though the blond could not understand English, a grin plastered across his smug face.

 

And in that moment, Draco did not think he _could_ understand the words. Potter had rubbed lotion into her skin and massaged her shoulders as she had moaned and stated that she hated people touching her. She always found a way to run her fingers through his stupidly messy hair or bump his shoulders with hers. They were almost always together. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Hermione,” Potter’s tone was all too condescending for Draco’s liking, “and I are _not_ dating. We _never_ have, and we _never_ will. She’s like my sister.”

 

“So,” Draco began, trying to process the information in his still hazy state, “she’s alone then?”

 

“Unless she went home with Nott or Zabini. Which I highly doubt, considering she hexed Nott’s lips shut when he tried to give her a good night kiss last night,” Potter laughed, eyeing Draco warily, his hand on his wand as though preparing for a duel.

 

“But she isn’t seeing anyone,” Draco clarified one more time, hating the disoriented feeling clouding his brain.

 

Potter finally gave him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder as he made to walk away from the strange conversation. “Mate, I think she’s secretly hoping to see you,” he told the blond, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Though I have no idea why she’d want a slimy little ferret like you.”

 

“I’m not too inebriated still to properly hex your face off,” Draco muttered as Potter turned around and walked away, laughing the whole time.

So, Granger was not with Potter? _I’ll be damned._ Draco thought back to his fantasy, willing his mind to shut off as he did. He had not had to perform Occlumency in months, and thoughts and memories of the witch were filling his mind so loudly that he was having a hard time compartmentalizing and building up his defensive walls.

 

What he had thought about and _done_ that afternoon was highly unacceptable but knowing that he had not wanked to another man’s witch gave him a sliver of his pride back. _Mate, I think she’s secretly hoping to see you._ Could Potter have spoken the truth or was he just trying to fuck with Draco’s mind?

 

All of the dangerous thoughts that Draco had tried so desperately to keep from flooding in all hit him with the force of a knockback jinx to the chest. The way she had openly flirted with him at the café, going beyond what it took to make a waitress jealous. How she was always willing to spend time with him, no matter what he suggested they do. How even in the silences that filled the space between them felt companionable—she never felt the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter.

 

Draco touched the back of his hand as he thought of the night they had waded into the warm sea, how her hand had brushed to tenderly against his. When they spoke, they had _real_ conversations. Deep, meaningful topics. She was not afraid to discuss that War, though she preferred not to speak of her parents. She understood him in a way no one else had, before or after the War.

 

Merlin, he had it bad. And for Granger. Who was _not_ Potter’s girl. Granger, who was intelligent, snarky, dark-humored and sexy as hell. The thought brought a smile to the wizard’s lips as he made his way into the muggle town alone. They had been on the island for less than a month, and yet he had fallen for the swotty little firecracker. Without the restraint of the bigotry of his forefathers, the ideologies of his father and the Dark Lord breathing down his neck, Draco felt free to cultivate a friendship with her. Woe-be-damned, he was going to try to bewitch her because she was the only person to make him feel anything for the first time in years.

 

The flower vendor asked the whereabouts of his wife and the wizard smiled widely. Not his wife, but perhaps she _could_ be something more than a one-time enemy and a sometimes friend.

 

o-o-o

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

 

Hermione sat in the open-air restaurant they frequented, waiting for Malfoy to join her. They had agreed to meet at five, but it was nearly half past and he was nowhere to be found. Her eyes scanned the beaches, dreading to see if he was striking up a conversation with a particularly pretty witch. Last time he had been distracted, he had blown off his date, a fact that niggled at her brain.

 

A waiter came past the table, giving her a charming smile as he offered her a glass of wine while she waited. She hated the pity she saw in his eyes as he watched her wait for that towheaded git. Hermione had really hoped he had changed, thought that he had. Her hopes that he felt the same about her were dashed the longer she sat alone, watching happy couples snog and grope in the bright sunshine of the beach.

 

The witch’s mood grew steadily sourer as she waited for him to show. Finally, after waiting another fifteen minutes, the irritation and bitterness she was feeling got the best of her. Hermione slammed a few coins on the table and snatched up her purse before storming off in the direction of his villa. Hermione had no idea where on the island he was, but she hoped he was alone in his suite. Because she fully intended to give him a piece of her mind and hex the smug smirk right off his too-perfect face.

 

Hermione had allowed herself to be walked all over by the men in her life thus far. Viktor had worshipped the ground she walked on initially, but over time had grown tired of her need to study incessantly. He had grown sullen and agitated with her when she had preferred to spend more time in the library than in Hogsmeade. So, she had given in, and her three-foot essays decreased in length by a few inches each weekend she spent away. Cormac had blatantly refused to spend time in the library and because she had been so heartbroken over her pigheaded best friend, she had allowed herself to be caught snogging in the Common Room, at Slughorn’s party. And she did not even want to think about how Ron had made her feel in sixth year, how she had felt when he left the Horcrux hunt.

 

Her failed past relationships ate at the dark recesses of her mind as she slammed up the stairs leading to his door. When she arrived, her brow furrowed and irritation welled in her. Her fist pounded against his door and she waited a moment, hearing nothing. Hermione knew what his password was, just by his reaction to the phrase. But should she use it? Her mind battled itself for only a moment before a picture of Malfoy wrapped in another witch’s legs flashed.

 

 _“Marmalade skies,”_ she hissed at the door and it clicked open softly.

 

A smug smirk graced her lips momentarily before she pushed the door open. _Please don’t let him be in bed with someone else._ “Malfoy?” she called into the suite, trying to put some anger in her voice as she willed her mind to quiet down.

 

Her demanding tone was met with complete silence, only the sound of the waves filtering from his bedroom. Curiosity got the better of her and she made her way further into his suite, wondering where he could be. “Draco?” she tried, her anger dissolving to hurt as she realized that he was not simply avoiding her—he had gone out to somewhere on the island, with Merlin knew who, and _ignored_ her.

 

His bedroom door was cracked, and Hermione pushed it open softly. The sight within surprised her more than him bedding a witch ever could have. His French doors and windows were open, a warm breeze filtering through and ruffling the curtains. Set up, in the middle of the open doorway, was a large canvas on a wooden easel. A table sat along one side, topped with brushes of varying sizes and shapes, containers of paint, thinners, varnishes, and water.

 

Her mouth agape, Hermione moved closer to the painting he had been working on last. She sat on his stool, taking in every detail of the artwork. It was a painting, done in an Impressionist style remnant of Monet, the ocean as he saw it from his balcony. The perfectly shaded turquoise waves crashed onto pink sands, charmed with magic to crash again and again. There was a tiny sailboat on the horizon, lulling on open waters. But most peculiarly, there was a small figure painted in the center of the canvas. A woman stood, facing the ocean. She wore a sundress of the most delightful shade of peach against bronzed skin, holding a straw hat on her head as a breeze blew her dress and hair. Curly, chestnut colored hair.

 

The witch rose and walked around the set-up and out onto the balcony. Was it supposed to be her in the painting—the idea was absurd. Why on earth would Malfoy be painting her likeness in the privacy of his room? She leaned against the railing to breathe in the warm sea air. Her eyes fell to a balcony in her direct line of sight and her heart began racing. Had he seen her sunbathing the day before? She had carefully looked around to check that she was alone and that no one had been in any of the windows, but she could not be for certain. Hermione first thought she would die of embarrassment at the thought, silently cursing herself for not putting two and two together to conclude that this was his balcony sooner. But her thoughts quickly progressed into a different line of thought. What if he had seen? Would she have minded?

 

With an audible groan at her brain’s constant need to war itself, she turned to go inside and stopped in her tracks. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at her, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Hermione felt every synapse in her body fire when he raised an eyebrow at her and worked his jaw. “Granger. How did you get into my room?” he asked quietly.

 

She took a few careful steps back into his room, trying to gauge exactly how angry he was at her intrusion. “That day when we talked about tangerine trees and marmalade skies. You found it peculiar but I could tell ‘marmalade skies’ resonated with you. My password is tangerine trees. Harry’s-newspaper taxis and Luna’s-kaleidoscope eyes.”

 

 

“Is any of that gibberish supposed to mean something to me?” he asked with an uncertain glance at the floor, trying to piece together how any of those objects fit.

 

“They’re lyrics. To a popular muggle song. I suspect a little Italian jab at our Britishness,” Hermione replied, giving him a small smile.

 

“So, you riddled out my password and decided to let yourself into my room?” he asked her, leaning back on his palms on the bed.

 

His stance was becoming more relaxed and, though she could tell he was uncomfortable with her knowledge of something he did not understand, he gave her a slight smile in return. Hermione shrugged unapologetically. “You stood me up. And I was angry.”

 

“You _were_?” he asked, his tone turning lighter. “But you aren’t anymore.”

 

Hermione crossed her arms, remembering exactly why she had stormed into his room uninvited, to begin with. “That depends. You had better give me a good reason why you left me to wait like a fool in the restaurant.”

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I was talking to my mother. The island’s only floo connection is in the welcoming center and I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t floo called her once since arriving. She was much chattier than I had expected.”

 

“Your mother? Is she well?” Hermione asked him, sitting primly on the edge of his stool to face where he was lounging back on his bed.

 

“She’s staying with Andromeda and Tonks’ son,” he mentioned, looking calmer than she had seen him in a while. “I haven’t seen her quite so content in years.”

 

Hermione’s tongue flicked out to lick her bottom lip, and Malfoy’s eyes darted to it as he dragged his teeth over his own. Feeling her chest heat up under his gaze she turned back to his artwork. “Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist, Draco?”

 

When she looked back at him, his shoulders had tensed even as he leaned back. His eyes slid past her face and rested on the figure in the painting. “My father always said that if there was nothing to be gained from an activity, it was a waste of time. And painting? Well, it wasn’t masculine enough, wouldn’t win any awards or cups or glory, took up precious time that could have been spent honing my Seeking skills.”

 

Hermione felt a pang in her chest at the thought that Lucius Malfoy had been so strict and had tried to repress his son’s evident talent. “You’re…fantastic,” she told him, running a single finger over the moving waves.

 

He hummed and pushed off the bed to stand behind her. “Well, I have a beautiful muse,” he replied, his hand going to the small of her back.

 

She tried to ignore the way he was igniting everything in her and peered at the figure, her back to them. “Don’t recognize her? I would have thought the hair would have been a dead giveaway,” he teased, pulling on a curl, his fingertips brushing her bare shoulders.

 

Hermione took in a deep breath, noting the distinctly Malfoy scent that encompassed her. Sandalwood, with a hint of citrus. He moved away from her to retrieve another canvas from behind the table. He held it in front of her. This one was significantly smaller, but the individual in the painting was very clearly her and she was meant to be the focal point. He had painted her profile, from a spot just over her shoulder as though she were looking out over the sea of lights. He was able to capture the brilliance of the moonlight as it illuminated her skin and her curls blew around back from her face as the painting’s sea breeze blew over her. She was smiling at something.

 

The witch could feel her mouth fall open at his work, a two-fold reaction as she took in not only his immense talent in capturing a moment but also the fact that he _had_ painted her. He set the painting on the table and they both looked at it. “What do you think?”

 

“It’s…your work is breathtaking. Really,” she responded, feeling dazed as he looked down at her.

 

“You don’t think it’s unsettling? That I’ve painted you?” he asked, and she could see the vulnerability on his features.

 

He was confident and flirtatious when he wanted to be, but there was an underlying fear of rejection deep in him. “Unsettling? No,” she told him, looking from his easel to his face, “Overwhelming and confusing, yes.”

 

“Why are you overwhelmed or confused?”

 

“Because it’s just me,” she told him with a shrug.

 

Malfoy stared at her for a beat longer than the moment really called for. “I think you’re absolutely stunning,” he told her quietly. “You deserve to be told every day just how breathtaking you are. Forgive me for anything I ever said in opposition to this fact.”

 

Hermione felt her entire face burn with his praise and he ran his fingers lightly over her hair, causing her to shiver under his touch. “Shall we go into town?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence she had caused.

 

“Did you have any ideas for activities?” she asked him, grateful when he moved away from her to close the French doors and windows with a wave of his wand.

 

“Actually, I do. You’ll have to wait and see though,” he told her, giving her a brilliant smile as she led the way out of his villa.

 

o-o-o

 

Draco’s heart had not stopped beating an erratic tattoo since he had walked into his villa and saw Granger standing there. Merlin help him, she had looked like Aphrodite herself standing there on his lanai. Her linen sundress dipped low in the front and the back and the bright white color reminded him of that tantalizingly teeny bikini she had worn the day before. He had watched her as she looked down at her patio, wondering if she would confront him. Her dress billowed around her legs and her hair, half of the curls pinned to the back of her head, blew about her face. She was truly resplendent.

 

And she had seen his obsessive little hobby of painting her. Much to his surprise, her response had been positive—she had not thought it disturbing. But it made Draco physically sick to think about the blinders she had with regards to herself. Granger was absolutely gorgeous, yet her confidence in herself was so low that she had no idea how appealing she really was. The wizard swore to himself that he would eviscerate Weasley the next time he saw him, for not worshipping her and reassuring her every day of their short-lived relationship. He wanted to hex himself into oblivion for ever saying anything negative to her, for picking at her hair, her teeth, her blood. Everything he had ever teased her with, every schoolyard taunt was coming back to haunt him in this very moment. He vowed to spend every waking moment making it up to her.

 

They made their way through town and down past the library. “Where are we going?” Granger asked as they passed the library at the end of the main street.

 

“Up there,” he responded with a grin, pointing to the Ferris wheel.

 

Granger stopped next to him, her face showing her panic. Blasted Gryffindors, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves. He turned around and stepped in front of her, trying to block her view as much as possible. Draco brushed her hair over her shoulder and ran her fingertips down her shoulder to hold her hand in his. “I know you have no reason to, but I’m asking you to trust me. And I know you’re afraid of heights—that’s why I want to do this.”

 

“You want to make me hyperventilate and cry in terror? Because that’s what is going to happen,” she told him, panic-stricken.

 

“Hermione, I would never let anything happen to you. But you need to face your fears head-on,” he told her quietly, lifting her chin so she looked at him. “It’s perfectly safe. It moves slow—you won’t get sick.”

 

Granger bit her lip and he could feel her rapid pulse in her wrist against his as he grasped her hand. “Come with me,” he urged once more, giving her his most charming smile.

 

She looked at him as though she would give him anything he wanted if he would only look at her like that. He knew he was winning the argument and she sighed. “If I vomit, I’ll make sure it’s in your lap,” she poked him in the chest.

 

“Attractive,” he replied with a grin.

 

He fell into step next to her, but instead of dropping her hand, he laced their fingers together. When she did not pull away, Draco smiled to himself.  They walked to toward the Ferris wheel, people watching as they went along. There were quite a few tourists on this side of town, window shopping, playing fair games and enjoying treats.

 

“Would you like some candy floss?” Draco asked, pointing to where a vendor was spinning the fluffy confectionary.

 

“Green?” Granger asked, one corner of her mouth turning up at him though he knew she was nervous.

 

“My favorite color,” the blond replied, ordering a large puff of the candy floss.

 

Instead of handing it to her, he held onto it. “We’ll eat it as we go up.”

 

“Do we have to do this?” she questioned, clearly dreading it.

 

“No, we don’t _have_ to do anything you don’t want. I would like it if we could,” Draco told her, squeezing her hand. “Where’s that Gryffindor bravery you all flaunted all the time?”

 

Granger glared up at him and put her chin up in defiance. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

 

“That’s my girl,” Draco praised.

 

He handed the operator some money. _“Solo noi due,”_ he told the young teen. _Only the two of us_. Holding out his hand, he helped Granger onto the empty cabin waiting for them. Nestling in next to her, his long fingers opened the candy floss. Usually, he was not so persistent, but he wanted to challenge her. A part of him wanted her to face the least of her fears. Her life for the last few years had been fraught with peril, fear and forced courage. But she had been facing evil, a truly cruel monster, and a harsh world. Surely, facing something as minor as a fear of heights would be far more soothing.

 

“Have a treat,” Draco told her, placing the candy floss on her thigh and his arm along the top of the seat behind her. “Sugar will soothe your nerves. At least, giving in to my sweet tooth always helps me.”

 

Granger was gnawing at her lip, her knuckles white on the rail of the enclosure as the ride shuddered to life. He began to worry as he watched her that perhaps he had made a grave error. His fingers danced over her bare shoulder, beckoning her attention to him. “Are you going to be okay? If it’s going to cause you this much distress we can stop. I just wanted you to face a minor fear after showing so much courage in the face of true terror for the last couple of years.”

 

Granger looked up at the blond as though seeing him for the first time, her brow furrowed as she stared at him with an emotion he could not read. “Why would you want that?” her tone was full of confusion.

 

“Close your eyes,” Draco instructed, putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest so that she rested her head against his shoulder.

 

He plucked a pinch of candy floss from the puff and held it to her lips. Her tongue darted out to retrieve it, melting it nearly the moment it touched. He chuckled as he popped some into his own mouth, the treat nearly sugary enough to make him cringe. The ride went slowly, but as they neared the very top, Draco looked out over the view before them. It was breathtaking, the way the sunset sparkled over a vast expanse of sea. On the horizon, the tiniest of slivers showed Italy’s mainland.

 

He looked down at the witch beside him, her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed. The orange and rose glow that broke through the twilight skies cast a golden glow over her entire person. Her white dress had turned a shade of peach, her bronzed skin was alight with a vibrant, fiery blaze. Her chestnut hair shined with golden highlights and her bottom lip was rosy and plump as she pouted slightly. She was gloriously radiant and Draco was absolutely certain he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

 

Draco had been wrong. She wasn’t Aphrodite—she was _the_ Goddess herself. She was the warm breeze that ruffled his hair, the sweet sugar between his lips, the embodiment of an angel before his eyes. Hermione Granger was everything in his past and future, everything he needed in between. He was awestruck at how strongly his urge to keep her close to him was.

 

Her brow knitted together, and she poked his knee. “We’ve stopped. Are we at the top, then?”

 

He closed his jaw and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he managed to croak out. “We’re at the top. Open your eyes now.”

 

Her tiny hand clawed at his thigh tightly as she drew in a deep breath. “Just don’t look immediately down,” he instructed. “Look outward.”

 

Granger clenched her eyes closed for a brief moment before she did as he told her, her eyes darting around to drink in every sight she could before her face turned up to him. Her gaze raked over his face, his hair before settling on his eyes. He could only imagine how ethereal his pale skin looked bathed in the orange light of the sunset. Draco wrapped his arm securely around her shoulders once more and she rested her head against his chest, both staring out over the sea. Her terrified grip on his leg had lessened some, but he brought his free hand to cover it and rest his fingers between hers.

 

The sunset enchanted them into a serene silence, both unmoving as the balmy air stilled around them and the sinking sun shot brilliant rays through the sky. Orange. _Marmalade skies_. Perhaps these muggles were on to something.

 

o-o-o

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

 

Draco sat under an open-air cabana with Theo and Blaise, sheltered from the setting sun but relishing the evening breeze that broke up the July heat. “No date for the evening, Zabini?” Draco asked, popping a grape into his mouth as he lounged back into the chair.

 

Blaise looked around the beach and then sighed. “Not yet. There’s a party at Aperto tonight, so hope is not lost, my friend.”

 

“Your tool’s going to fall off,” the blond responded with a roll of his eyes.

 

“What do the muggles say? Use it or lose it?” his dark-skinned friend said with a laugh. “So, you should be losing yours anytime now.”

 

Theo snorted, downing a shot of grappa as he settled in. “Malfoy’s trying to slither on into Granger’s bed.”

 

Draco’s eyes flashed from the glass of firewhiskey he was nursing to Theo’s smug face. “What the fuck are you on about, Nott?”

 

“Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what the fuck I’m on about. You’re always running off on little adventures with the little lioness. She gives you the “come-fuck-me” eyes over dinner—hell, she _admitted_ that you were her first choice. And you’ve stopped insulting her and started staring at her like the sun shines out of her arse,” Theo replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

The blond put his head back against the chair and let out a long groan. “What am I going to do?”

 

“Fuck her until she can’t walk?” Theo suggested.

 

“It’s _Granger._ ”

 

Blaise leaned forward on his knees. “And you’re Malfoy. We get it. The War is over, mate. We’ve seen a change in you in the month since we arrived here.”

 

“And, besides, she is a feisty little bird. I never realized, but Merlin’s saggy left tit, Malfoy. She’s fucking splendid,” Theo said, a faraway look in his eyes making Draco narrow his.

 

“Stay away from her, Theodore,” he told the burly wizard.

 

“Then get on that. In it,” Theo urged. “She’s a wild one, mark my words. It’s _always_ the quiet ones.”

 

Draco glared at his friend. “Don’t talk about her like that or I’ll Avada your sorry arse.”

 

Blaise laughed at his friends’ antics. He crossed one leg over the other and watched a witch stroll past, though he lost interest when the witch’s beau caught up to her. “Malfoy, what our uncouth imbecile of a best mate is trying to say is—the war has ended. You have a beautiful woman who is clearly attracted to you. Let go and have fun.”

 

Draco put his head back on the chair once more and stared at the top of the cabana, watching the sheer white curtains flap lightly. He wished that he could be so carefree—to ignore the guilt, the bitterness, the memories. These two had not been through his experiences. Sure, they had witnessed the horrors Hogwarts had been placed under for the last year, but neither of them had suffered under the Dark Lord’s wand. Neither had been threatened outright and bullied into beginning a War they did not even want.

 

How could he just jump into a casual relationship with someone else who was equally as broken and shattered? He knew that she needed something more than just a few romps in his sheets. The wizard thought once more of his conviction the day before—he was going to show her exactly how beautiful she was. He wanted nothing more than to listen to his friends, to bewitch the enticing woman. He _needed_ to bewitch her, to hear her melodic laugh, to run his fingers through her wild curls, to kiss those pouty lips, to feel her writhe in ecstasy beneath him, hear his name fall from her lips as he was buried deep within her. But he also wanted to listen to her talk of ancient runes and challenge her on her potions knowledge. His hand twitched to hold hers anytime they were together. The stunning little woman had nestled her way into his mind and was quickly carving a spot in his heart.

 

“Look, stop overthinking things all the time,” Blaise finally said, watching his friend carefully. “I can literally see the doubt and anxiety leaking from your pores.”

 

“I want her. Bad,” Draco admitted with a sigh.

 

“Then take her,” Theo reasoned with an agitated wave of his hand. “I fail to see the problem here. She wants you. You want her. There is nothing to stop you.”

 

Draco dropped his forehead to his hand, leaning on his thigh. “It takes more finesse than, ‘Hey, wanna shag?’”

 

“You have never had a problem getting a witch into your bed,” Blaise argued with an incredulous smile on his lips.

 

“Granger is not some cotton-brained Slytherin, wowed by my fortune and good looks,” Draco replied.

 

“If you don’t go after her, I will,” Theo said with a shake of his head. “She’s a hell of a woman.”

 

“You put your prick anywhere near her, and I will castrate you,” Draco warned, sending a stinging jinx toward his friend’s inner thigh.

 

“Fucker,” Theo hissed, trying to retrieve his wand quickly to put out the sting on his leg.

 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Blaise said with a snort. “She’ll castrate him first. He couldn’t pry his lips apart for an hour last time he tried anything.”

 

“She’s going back to Hogwarts,” Draco blurted aloud.

 

Theo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Typical Granger. Wants to climb the ranks within the Ministry through educational merit instead of just by way of her celebrity status. How very _noble_.”

 

“What am I supposed to do when summer’s over?” Draco asked, looking between his two friends.

 

“Have a little summer lovin’ and then get back to life,” Theo shrugged.

 

“Or, have a little summer lovin’ and then get back to Hogwarts,” Blaise suggested, reading Draco’s features carefully.

 

Though he chased more tail than Draco could shake a stick at, Blaise was always more of a romantic than Theo. He understood a little more readily what the blond meant in his worrying. Theo enjoyed sex without actual romance—raw and wild, unattached. And in Hogwarts, that method had worked for Draco. But as a grown man, having just come through a War and a brutal last few years of his life, he craved more. He yearned for understanding, intimacy, love.

 

“Here’s your chance, Malfoy. Your sassy little bird is coming this way,” Blaise told him, nodding over his shoulder.

 

Draco turned around to see her walking up with Potter and Lovegood. She was dressed casually—a pair of short jean shorts and a white top that fell completely off her shoulders and showed a sliver of her tanned mid-drift. But his heart jumped into his throat and lodged itself somewhere behind his Adam’s apple at the sight of her. Her hair was wild and free, made untamable by the salt air and had grown steadily more gold with each day in the sun.

 

“Is that all you three do all day? Drink?” Granger asked, eyeing their glasses.

 

“Oh, little lovie, we do so much more than drink. If you’d like to accompany me back to my room, I could show you,” Theo told her, grinning as she glared.

 

“Nott,” Draco warned, watching as his burly friend pulled out a purple velvet pouch from under his seat.

 

 “There are a bonfire and party over at Aperto’s tonight,” Blaise addressed the newcomers, “why don’t you all come over with us?”

 

“A party?” Lovegood smiled widely and looked to Potter. “I love parties. Is it someone’s birthday?”

 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of people in their birthday attire before the night is over,” Potter replied under his breath, making Granger laugh.

 

“You coming, Granger?” Draco asked, trying to seem casual.

 

“Not yet,” he could have sworn he heard Blaise mumble into his cup as she gave a shy nod.

 

The group stood, Draco stretching widely as he watched Lovegood link her arm with Granger’s to lead the way to the open-air restaurant. Her long legs flowed from under her sinfully short shorts, her arse perfectly plump and shapely as her hips swayed while she walked over the sand. Again, he was reminded of his pitiful behaviors upon seeing her in a bikini and he frowned slightly. He made his mind up then to listen to his two friends—Granger wanted him, he wanted her. He would not just pounce on her, but he was going to make his attraction known.

 

They made their way to the bar, similar in structure to the restaurant they frequented in that it had a covered roof, but the sides were completely open. Once inside, a crowd was growing heavy with party-goers. Theo pushed through the crowds, different languages and dialects mixing with the loud music to create a cacophony of sound. He found an empty table in the back corner and waved at the empty seats for the others to sit. “I’ve got a special little concoction of my own creation here. If you all would like to partake—it was a hit at all of the Slytherin House parties.”

 

Draco watched as Theo retrieved a frosted glass bottle from within the velvet pouch, one that stayed perpetually cold and endlessly refilled itself. The liquid within glowed a bright pink. The blond smirked. He knew _exactly_ what the alcohol was and what it could do. “I call it ‘Moondrop,’” Theo explained to the others, taking a long swig before passing it to Blaise.

 

“Moondrop?” Potter inquired, watching the Italian take a long pull.

 

“Because it makes witches want to drop their knickers by the light of the moon,” Theo winked once more at Granger, who turned her nose up at him in disgust.

 

“You are a pervert,” she told him, rolling her eyes as she ingested some of the alcohol.

 

She looked down at the bottle in surprise. _“Oh!_ That’s good— _really_ good. It tastes like bananas and pineapples.”

 

“Have another pull, love. It’s an endless supply,” Theo urged, giving Draco a wink.

 

Draco pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and tried his best wizard’s chess face. Poor Granger had no idea what she was getting into. He took the bottle from her and gulped down three good sips before passing it along to Potter. The bottle went around again, and everyone drank from it merrily, the taste pleasant enough to elicit a tiny moan of pleasure from the brunette witch each time it passed her lips.

 

The music was loud, obnoxiously so, and it grated on Draco’s nerves as he sat, and people watched. Had it not been for Granger agreeing to accompany them, he would have been holed up in his bed for the evening. He absolutely hated large crowds, noise, and chaos—all of which was present before his eyes. A new song began, and Luna grabbed Granger by the arm with a girlish squeal that made both the witch and wizard roll their eyes.

 

In good fun, the swotty Gryffindor allowed herself to be dragged to the middle of a crowd. Blaise and Theo mapped out their evening, planning to act as the other’s wingmen while searching the crowd for two unsuspecting lovers. Potter quietly drank his alcohol and minded his business, for once not starting a mundane and agitating conversation with Draco.

 

The blond, for his part, was trying anything not to watch the interaction between Lovegood and Granger, but Lovegood certainly drew attention to herself with her dance moves—a cross between a limping hippogriff and a striking cobra. The Gryffindor did not seem to know quite what to do with the Ravenclaw’s dancing, so she instead bobbed her head shyly and shimmied her shoulders in an embarrassed manner. Luckily for her, unluckily for Draco, Potter chose that moment to rescue her. He saddled in between her and Lovegood. Draco again noted how incredibly close they were to one another, though he also saw how Potter’s hands never ventured to her bare skin. He did _plenty_ of venturing onto Lovegood’s however.

 

Draco watched the brunette as she laughed at her friends, the way her face lit up the entire space. Blaise stood behind Draco, placing his hands on either shoulder. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?” the Italian suggested.

 

“I don’t dance,” he mumbled in response.

 

“Neither does she apparently. But surely you feel the Moondrop by now,” Blaise told him.

 

Draco mulled over his friend’s words—he _did_ feel Theo’s cocktail working in him. The sneaky Slytherin had designed the alcohol to heighten the drinker’s senses. It’s strange little _side effects_ had earned him bragging rights in sixth year—it had brought about the hook-ups that had blossomed into relationships.

 

“Just go up behind her, take her hips and ask her if she would care to dance,” Blaise instructed, his attention being drawn elsewhere as a handsome man caught his eye.

 

Draco stared in her direction as he downed another shot, his vision tunneling to her and only her. He felt slightly predatory as he made his way through the crowd of people to where she was awkwardly dancing as the third wheel. He slipped in behind her and lightly placed his hands on her hips, his mouth close to her ear. “Can I dance with you?” he asked, feeling her stiffen in his hands.

 

o-o-o

 

Malfoy’s seductively velvet voice tore through the loud, pumping music. Hermione felt her inhibitions lowering as his thumbs ran over her bare waist above her shorts. In response to his question, she simply leaned into him, her shoulders against his chest. She had no idea how to dance, let alone provocatively, but she closed her eyes and let the music thump in her chest. The rhythm worked in time with Malfoy’s hands to guide her hips, their bodies not quite touching just yet.

 

She lifted her hand to touch his neck behind her and he dipped his head to skim his nose along her bare shoulder. The sultry summer night-air was making her feel heady, dizzy in an almost pleasant way. The music vibrated her very core, the vibrato of everyone closely surrounding her working within her body to fuel her movement.

 

As Hermione’s fingernails scraped along the nape of his neck, he moved her curls to the opposite side and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing from the tip of her shoulder all the way to the base of her throat. Wet, open mouth kisses that allowed him to taste the salt from the sea air and the beads of perspiration beginning to form on her skin.

 

“You taste fucking delicious,” he growled into her ear, nipping at the lobe, “but you _feel_ even better.”

 

With that, he pulled her hips so that she was flush against him, her arse creating a satisfying friction with his groin. He let out a slight groan at the contact, moving one hand from her hip and up under her shirt, teasing her exposed mid-drift. His other hand went in the opposite direction, skimming over the outside of her thigh.

 

The bass in the music was thumping through her, bumping in time to her heart’s beat. He was sucking at her neck once more, causing a whimper to slip from her parted lips. Around them, there was a static energy that spurned them on, guiding their movements. Their bodies fit together like a puzzle, no gap between them as her hips ground into him in sinuous circles. Hermione was beginning to feel intoxicated on nothing more than the raw connection she was sharing with the blond wizard, their dancing turning her on more than anything ever before.

 

The bulge in his trousers pressed against her backside, his hands roamed over her skin. She felt his hand slide from the outside of her thigh, gliding until it skimmed over the inside of her thigh, his thumb brushing below the bottom hem of her shorts. Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to see his face and turned around just as the next song began.

 

Lights flashed through the dark around them as she looked up to Malfoy’s face. His eyes were hooded with unrestrained lust, his tongue wetting his lips as he looked down at her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, dipping her face to kiss the bit of exposed chest his unbuttoned top button allotted. A single bead of perspiration dipped from the hollow of his neck and she dragged her tongue over it in an open-mouthed kiss that mimicked his earlier efforts.

 

Malfoy’s long fingers tightened their grip on her waist before sliding down over her arse and touching the crease just below, where her thighs began. He gave her legs a gentle squeeze, pulling her closer to himself effectively. Bringing his hands up along her sides in soft, sensual touches, he threaded his fingers into her hair, giving it a tug so she would lift her face to his. When she did, his nose traced along her jaw, his lips drawing nearer to hers.

 

“’Mione!” Harry’s voice sounded behind her, causing her to jump a foot apart from Malfoy.

 

Hermione’s eyes shot open and the spell she was under whilst dancing quickly rescinded. For his part, the blond wizard looked ready to knock the intrusive one clear out. Harry looked between the two sheepishly, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

 

“And yet, you did,” Malfoy remarked, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly.

 

“Sorry. Luna and I are going to head outside for some air. I think Blaise and Theo are already out there,” Harry said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward the exit.

 

Hermione looked at Malfoy. Too embarrassed to look him in the eye, she settled her gaze on the base of his throat. He swallowed hard and shrugged. “Go ahead out, Granger. I’ll get us a couple drinks.”

 

He turned and made his way through the crowd toward the bar and she looked at her two friends. Harry was looking awkward and Luna looked apologetic. “Sorry, Hermione. We didn’t mean to ruin a moment,” she told her.

 

Hermione sighed and gestured for them to lead the way out. They pushed through bodies, sticky with sweat and gyrating all over the place, and made their way outside. The breeze from the water ruffled her hair and she closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her erratic heart.

 

 _“Whoa!”_ Harry’s voice broke through her peace once more. Her eyes shot open and she saw that Harry’s skin was glowing a faint green, Luna’s a bright pink. There were handprints of maroon all over the two. She looked at her own skin, a faint yellow light being illuminated from within.

 

“What the fuck?” Harry asked, eyeing his arms where maroon prints showed clearly.

 

Malfoy walked out of the crowd and his face broke into a wide smirk as he took in the sight of them. As soon as he stepped into the light of the moon, his skin was illuminated in a deep red haze, lighter orange handprints on the nape of his neck and arms. He had a couple of smudged lip imprints across his chest where she had kissed only a few minutes before. She looked down at her shoulder where he had nuzzled and saw a few tangerine-colored bite marks and lip imprints.

 

“What the hell did your friend give us to drink, Malfoy?” Hermione demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

 

“Moondrop. It’s called that because, well, by the light of the moon it causes you to give off a certain hue. Any time someone touches you, your two colors will show up as an imprint,” he explained, tracing one finger down Luna’s arm and leaving a bright fuchsia trail.

 

Luna looked at the streak that Malfoy’s fingertip had left and then back up at them, beaming brightly. “It reflects our inner auras! How brilliant of Theodore to invent something so creative.”

 

“Auras?” Malfoy snorted. “I highly doubt that is what it’s doing. Probably some clever little color-changing charm.”

 

“No, no, Draco,” Luna told him, putting a hand to his face and leaving behind a fuchsia set of fingerprints. “Your aura is definitely a deep red—realistic to a fault, survival-oriented, quick to anger. But also, passionate and highly sexual.”

 

“Perhaps this is a little _invasive_ ,” Harry mumbled under his breath as Luna drew a heart onto his forearm.

 

“Not at all, Harry. It’s _amazing!_ ” Luna told him, poking one finger to Hermione’s skin. “You are definitely a yellow aura, Hermione—seeking an awakening, intelligent and optimistic. And together, you create orange. How lovely. The color of health, adventure, confidence, energy.”

 

Luna leaned in a little closer to Hermione, careful not to place her hands anywhere Draco’s prints were left. “It’s also the color of addiction. I suspect when the two of you get together, there will be no separating you-you'll be completely enamored with one another! Isn’t that _wonderful?”_

Hermione bit her lip, feeling her cheeks heat up as she felt Malfoy eyeing her. Harry narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “So…if your color is red and Hermione’s is yellow…and there’s an orange handprint dangerously close to your…” Harry waved a hand at her inner thighs. “What the hell were you two doing before I interrupted?”

 

Draco smirked. “I think, Potter, the real question is, what would we be doing right now, had you _not_ interrupted?”

 

Harry’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “Come on, Luna. Why don’t we take a walk along the beach? I don’t even want to know where else his hands have been, and I don’t want to stick around to see where they’re headed. Oh, and Malfoy?”

 

The blond wizard gave him a mildly irritated look, his patience wearing thin. “Yes?”

 

“Hermione is like my sister. I’ll kill you if you do anything to hurt her.”

 

Malfoy waved him off and Harry glared at him one final time before he and Luna walked away. Her eyes wandered to her skin, to the handprint that dipped under the hem of her shorts. Merlin, they had been getting carried away. If Harry had not interrupted them, Hermione was certain she would have been snogging Draco Malfoy at this very moment. The feel of his hands running over her arse, the way they had touched the crease between her bum and thighs was brought to the forefront of her mind.

 

The two glowing individuals we already attracting the attention of curious passersby. An absurd thought hit her as her own hand traced over where his had touched her outer thigh—she was getting turned on by the thought of publicly, possessively being marked up by him. His hands had claimed her visible skin as their territory and the idea of it sent a tingle down to her core. Her hands were shaking with restraint as she kept from touching him, as she so desperately wanted to run her hands underneath of his shirt. She needed to get out of his presence and soon or she would do something they would likely both regret come morning. “I should probably go. I’m—I’m a little tired.”

 

“Hmm, so soon? I’ll walk you, Granger,” Malfoy offered, his smirk turning into a sexy and smug grin.

 

“No. I can go on my own,” she told him, walking up to him so she could playfully jab her finger in his chest. “That was a dirty trick, _Draco._ ”

 

“Oh, love. You have no idea what kind of dirty tricks I’ve got up my sleeve,” he told her, leaning close enough to her that his breath caused her to shiver. “You needed a little something for tonight—to remember me by,” he told her, pulling back and giving her a wink.

 

“You are insufferable,” she told him with a roll of her eyes.

 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked seriously, the playfulness gone.

 

“If you would like to. I was going to rent a bicycle and ride around the entire island’s shoreline,” she told him with a shrug.

 

“Well. Looks like, _for once,_ you’ll be able to teach me something—I’ve never ridden a bicycle. I’ll meet you at noon outside of your villa?” he confirmed, smiling once more at the promise of seeing her again.

 

Hermione gave him a single nod, raising her hand to trace her initials onto his forearm. “Noon,” she stated, giving him her best simpering smile before turning to go, the promise of a tomorrow with him igniting her with anticipation.

 

o-o-o

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

 

When Hermione got into her room, she leaned against her closed door for a few moments, her head against the wood and her eyes closed. Remembering the feel of Malfoy behind her, their bodies grinding sinfully, she crossed one leg over the other and pressed her thighs together. The walk back to the villa in the night air had done nothing to quell her arousal—if anything, the stares she received from passersby only served to perversely affect her even more.

 

She pushed off the door and made her way to the French doors and opened them, allowing moonlight to pour into her room and placed a disillusionment charm along the open doorway. With a glance down at her arms, she made her way to the floor length mirror, anticipating what she would find. With a gasp, she drank in the sight of orange-hued bite marks and lip impressions along her shoulder. Her fingers trickled over them, remembering the feel of his suckling on her bare flesh.

 

Hermione touched the print on her thigh, tracing it in reverse toward the outside of her thigh. She turned and surveyed her legs, Malfoy’s handprints dipping underneath of her clothing. With her heart racing, she pulled her shirt up and over her head. The shirt had been supportive enough to go without a bra, and she was surprised to find handprints over her ribcage, swipes along the bottom swell of her breast. Had his hands been _that_ close? Hermione had been so entranced by him that she had felt intoxicated in his presence.

 

She traced the very clear imprint along the ridges of her ribs and over the long orange smudge down her side. Anxious to clearly see the impressions along her legs, she slid her shorts and knickers down, kicking them away. Naked and bathed in moonlight, she could see clearly that had he moved an inch more, he would have been under her knickers. Upon turning around, his handprints showed very clearly along the underside of her arse.

 

Every touch Malfoy had left had been purposeful, having prior knowledge of the Moondrop’s after effects. He had told her it was to remember him by, and Hermione could vividly remember the feel of his hands gliding along her bare skin as she looked at what he had done. She could feel arousal aching between her legs, begging for relief.

 

In a bout of hazy determination, she retrieved her wand and levitated the mirror to the end of the bed and climbed up into the puffy bedding. The witch nestled herself back into the copious abundance of pillows, biting her lip as she looked at her illuminated reflection. Her hand glided over his marks once more, up along her ribs and finished the path he had begun. She cupped her breast, massaging and pinching the already sensitive nipple. Her other hand traveled along her inner thigh. When she raised her legs into a bent position, spreading them so that she could see her hand dip between them, she caught sight of Malfoy’s handprints along her arse.

 

Hermione was not new to self-pleasure—she had gone long periods of time between Viktor and Cormac and then Cormac and Ron. But this was the first time she had ever had a man’s input, however distant. It was highly erotic, and she let out a groan of anticipation as her fingers teased her flesh, avoiding sliding between her folds just yet.

 

From the corner of her eye, a flash of red caught her eye. She turned her attention to where the man in her thoughts was currently setting up his easel and a canvas. He dragged his shirt up and over his head, not bothering to unbutton any more buttons than necessary. His hair ruffled messily, and she could see the orange blur along his chest where she had kissed.

 

Her fingers finally dipped into her folds, already slippery with arousal as she stared at him from behind her disillusionment charm. Her eyes closed, and she slipped into a world where he was an active participant in her pleasure.

 

_Malfoy was sitting at the end of the bed, replacing the mirror. He was watching her touch herself, his own hand gliding over his length as he did. Her hand went over her ribs to cup her breast once more, pinching hard enough to elicit a moan. The look he was giving her was absolutely predatory and fierce, looking as though he wanted to fuck her roughly._

Hermione opened her eyes and glimpsed the real blond from where she lay, only his head and shoulders visible in his seated position behind the balcony railing. He was biting his lip as he brought the brush to the canvas in slow strokes, movements that played into her fantasy—Malfoy’s movements.

 

_Malfoy rose from his seated position and crawled over her, every touch of his skin on her awakening her senses. He dragged his lips up her abdomen, between her breasts and up over her throat in the same wet, open-mouthed kisses that had left her shoulder marked. His fingers replaced hers between her legs, soft, slow strokes making her weak._

Hermione looked in the mirror before her, the fingers of her hand working in rhythmic circles. Her other hand traveled under her leg to brush against the handprint there, the fantasy-Malfoy’s hands following the paths her own were following.

 

_Malfoy’s hand ran over the smooth skin of her thigh, going around underneath of her to cup her arse, his mouth kissing down one breast in a teasing manner, alternating between nipping and sucking._

 

Still sensing his hands on her flesh, Hermione retrieved her wand from the nightstand beside her. Growing up sharing a room with a gaggle of other witches, she had overheard a thing or two about spells used in the bedroom, experimented in the confines of her closed-curtain bed. She looked up at the real wizard once more, now looking out over the ocean from his seat. The red hue to his skin was beginning to fade, his skin looking more sun-kissed than glowing.

 

 _“You taste fucking delicious…but you feel even better,”_ he had whispered into her ear when they were dancing. Remembering the gravelly edge to his voice when he had said it, she closed her eyes once more and pointed the wand toward her bared sex. _“Imple.”_

She dropped the wand on the floor beside her as the spell mimicked the feel of a cock sliding into her. The full feeling played into her fantasy:

 

_Malfoy slid into her with a quick snap of his hips, lowering his mouth to suck on the hollow below her ear. Hermione could feel him drawing blood to the surface, leaving a lasting mark as he groaned at the feel of being sheathed within her. “You taste fucking delicious,” he murmured into her ear as his hips created a quick pace, “but you feel even better.”_

She opened her eyes and noted that her own skin was losing its golden hue, the orange handprints fading just as rapidly. The moonlight still bathed her entire body and she could feel the spell she had cast working within her in sync with the Malfoy of her fantasy. Her eyes went up to the real Malfoy once more and she watched as he stood and stretched, coming over to the rail of the balcony. His eyes glanced down toward her patio and he stared for enough time that she worried her disillusionment charm had not been strong enough.

 

But the thought that he _might_ be able to see her, even the most remote possibility only spurned Hermione on more. She increased the speed of the flick of her wrist as her fingers danced circles over her swollen clit, her actions more desperate as the need for release built up within her.

 

Hermione no longer watched herself but watched the real Malfoy now. She took in every line of his body, from the sharp angle of his jaw to his narrow waist. Staring at the real man, the wizard in her head’s body slid against hers. As fantasy-Malfoy increased in speed, and the spell and her fingers did as well—her fantasy, her magic, and her body all driving her toward release. The real man ran a hand through his hair as he stared down toward her balcony, seemingly lost in thought.

 

_She pulled at Malfoy’s impossibly soft hair, tugging it until he brought his tongue from between her breasts to her mouth, kissing her roughly as he held onto the headboard of the bed, pumping into her quickly._

In her mind, all she could picture was the sight of his cock slipping in and out of her slick entrance—hard, throbbing, deliciously sized to fit her exactly. As her legs quaked and her hips bucked upward to meet her hand, she watched the living Malfoy smile lazily at whatever was going through his mind. Between the rails in his balcony, she saw him palm over the front of his trousers before he turned to go inside. It was just enough to push her over the edge and she came forcefully with a strangled, _“Fuck, Malfoy.”_

As the witch caught her breath and ran her fingers over her clit, causing her to jolt with sensitivity, she put her head back into the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. Her fingers danced lazily over the heated bare skin of her belly, thighs, and breasts. As her breathing returned to normal she pulled the covers back and slipped under before retrieving her wand from the floor and levitating the mirror away and removing the spell from between her legs.

 

Hermione lay on her side and stared up toward his balcony and watched as he returned with a glass of something to drink and a new paintbrush in his hands. Feeling spent from her earlier efforts, she lay perfectly still and watched him take his seat. The afterglow from the Moondrop had all but faded, leaving him pale and luminescent in the moonlight once more.

 

Merlin, she was falling for the wizard, and hard if she were honest. In just a few short weeks, he had proven to her that he was not some scary ex-Death Eater, upholding his father’s values and hell-bent on destroying her. No, he was broken, lonesome, exhausted by the world around them.

 

It did not hurt that he was also sexy as hell. In school, she had noticed his good looks, just like every girl and a few of the guys had. But she had never harbored the first thought about him, his repulsive, bigoted attitude outweighing his blessed appearance. Now that his attitude was out of the way, and he was beginning to loosen up, she allowed herself to look at him more readily. She drank in the sight of him like a woman who stumbled upon an oasis after traveling over the desert for fifty years.

 

For fuck’s sake, she had just rubbed one out while thinking about him and actively watching him doing an innocent activity. Hermione felt no guilt as she thought about what she had just done. She wanted him and, if the way he danced with her, the way he looked at her, the way he _spoke_ to her was any indication, that feeling was quite mutual.

 

The witch had come to Cosrosa to escape England, to escape all reminders of the War and Ron and Hogwarts. Even for just a short while. Never, in the wildest dreams that her mind could imagine, did she ever think that her solitude and escape would be found in Draco Malfoy.

 

Malfoy placed a paintbrush behind his ear as he took a sip of his drink and eyed his artwork. She watched as he rubbed his jaw in concentration and she could nearly feel the smooth skin of his face beneath her fingertips. How in the hell had she become so obsessed with the handsome man?

 

She lay on her side and watched him for nearly an hour before sleep finally came and took her. All the while, imagining random scenarios where he was under her bedsheets with her, his hands roaming, his lips kissing all over.

 

o-o-o

 

Morning arrived with bright streaks of pouring in the still open French doors. Hermione woke to the sound of an impatient hoot of an owl. She lowered the disillusionment charm and the bird swooped into her room as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

 

She was still naked and every thought of the night before came flooding back to her. Malfoy, the dancing, the fantasy, the innocent way he had sat outside in the night air. The tawny owl gave another impatient hoot, this one sounding slightly more scandalized at her scantily clad state. Hermione untied the letter from around its ankle and waved her hand at the miffed bird. “Off you go. I don’t have any treats.”

 

The owl nipped at her and took off out of her window. Hermione stood and retrieved the silk robe from the back of the bathroom door, securing it around herself as she waved her wand toward the tea kettle in the kitchen. She looked at herself in the mirror, her hair a wild tangle of curls around her face. She pulled her hair back and levitated the teacup out to the lanai.

 

She sat in the chair and sipped her tea, turning the letter over in her hands. The Hogwarts crest was pressed into the wax seal. Likely her list of supplies and required texts for the new school year. When she cracked open the letter with a satisfying pop of the wax seal, she was surprised to find Professor McGonagall’s neat handwriting sprawled across the parchment.

 

_Miss Granger,_

_I hope that this letter finds you in good health and that you have been spending the summer finally taking time for yourself. I debated even sending this letter to you as I feel selfish asking you for a favor after you spent so many years assisting the wizarding world._

_But I cannot think of a better individual to assist me in the task I would endeavor to complete by the first of September. I do not want to get ahead of myself by relaying too much now, as I know that you will feel obligated to assist and far sooner than necessary._

_If you are not otherwise occupied from the fifteenth of August to the first of September, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in planning a reformation of Hogwarts. I intend to revise the current aspects in order to create more unity within the school._

_I understand if you are not able to assist, or do not desire to do so. But I do hope to see you soon._

_Respectfully,_

_M. McGonagall_

Hermione reread the letter twice more before she folded it and put it on the table beside her. Professor McGonagall had been purposely vague, but she would be remiss if she did not admit that she was intrigued. A revamping of Hogwarts? Ideas began to flood into her brain already and the witch let out a laugh as she realized she was doing exactly what McGonagall had implied—jumping into the project much too soon.

 

“Something funny, Granger?” she heard the gravelly voice of her desires from above her.

 

Hermione’s eyes darted up to where he was leaning over the railing and looking down at her, his hair mussed crazily and a stupidly attractive half-smile playing over his lips. “Only that ridiculously fluffy hairstyle you’re sporting,” she called back, trying desperately not to picture her naked body in the mirror the night before as the thoughts of _his_ naked body ran through her mind.

 

“You’re one to talk! You may want to shower now—that’ll give you two whole hours to tame that owl’s nest before we head out on our next big adventure,” he told her with a laugh.

 

Hermione looked up at him, smiling widely as he gave her a grin and turned to go inside. She put her head back against the chair’s headrest and closed her eyes. The impossibly sexy wizard was going to bring her to ruin, she just knew it.

 

o-o-o

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

 

Draco had not been able to get the thought of Granger’s body pressed against his out of his mind all night. He had wanked twice since leaving her, simply thinking of how close his hands had been to her most intimate areas. His growing obsession with her was unhealthy and would only bring him to ruin. But as he approached her, wearing a cheery pair of red shorts and a flowy white halter top that showed off the radiant skin of her mid-drift and back, he decided that perhaps he wanted to be wrecked by her.

 

Her hair had been washed and pulled into a loose ponytail, curls out and framing her face as they blew in the light sea breeze. Merlin, all he wanted was to shove his fingers into it as he snogged her within an inch of her life. Instead, Draco smirked widely. “You look good—well rested,” he commented, taking note of the curious way a blush bloomed on her cheeks.

 

“So, I get to show the perfect Draco Malfoy something new, do I? Something as simple as riding a bicycle?” she teased, falling into step beside him.

 

“Don’t let it go to your head, love. I’ve got plenty to teach you,” he retorted, his voice husky as he tried to erase the image of her in a Hogwarts standard issue uniform, bent over the Professor’s desk and begging to be taught a lesson.

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied, her fingers brushing against his as they walked.

 

He looked down at her and she was defiantly looking straight ahead, but he knew she had understood the double entendre in his words if the way she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth was any indication. _Fucking Potter._ If that bespectacled arsehole had not interrupted them the night before, Draco would _know_ what it felt like to nibble on that plump bottom lip for himself.

 

They went through the barrier separating the muggle and wizarding halves of the island and, for the first time, Draco noticed a small shack a little way down the beach, bicycles leaning against the side. Granger sauntered over the sand and held up two fingers to the bored looking man within. Draco reached around her and slid some money to the muggle, who simply jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the sign. Twenty-four-hour rentals. He nodded his understanding as Granger huffed impatiently. “I was going to pay for this.”

 

“Well, I beat you to it. Just hush and allow a dashing wizard to dote on you,” he told her, selecting a red bicycle as she retrieved a more feminine yellow one with a basket.

 

Draco looked at the contraption, inspecting the mechanics of it. He could fly a broom—this could not possibly be that much different. “Hop on,” Granger told him, patting the seat.

 

He looked at her for a moment. She had a mischievous glint in her eye that made him narrow his. He was going to make a fool of himself, Draco just knew it. If it were anything like riding a broom, Granger would not be such shit at broom riding. He groaned at the back of his throat at the thought of her legs clamping onto a broom handle and climbed onto the bicycle.

 

“I’ve never had to teach anyone how to ride a bicycle before,” she said apologetically, staring at him for a moment. “I suppose it’s similar to riding a broom—except there’s no magic in this to help you stay upright. It’s all muscle memory and balance. Just sit on the seat and hold the handlebars upright. Push off on the right pedal and try to go straight.”

 

Draco listened to Granger’s instruction and sighed. No time like the present. He attempted to follow her guidance and got about three feet before he toppled sideways and landed in the sand. “Fuck,” he hissed, his leg entangled within the pedals.

 

Granger dropped her bicycle and sauntered over to him. “Are you okay?” she asked him, a small amused smile playing at her lips.

 

“Never better,” he replied from the sand, taking her extended hand as she helped to pull him upright. “I’m charming the bastard.”

 

He looked around and noticed they were not being watched. Granger giggled at him as he whispered a charm at the hunk of metal and it stood upright without him touching it. Draco climbed onto the seat once more and nearly sighed in relief as the bicycle began to feel more like a broom, supporting his weight without him having to try. He pushed the pedal forward and took off, successfully riding a short distance before circling back around. “Not too difficult,” he told her as he neared where she was mounting hers.

 

“That’s because you cheated. Bested by a muggle contraption,” she teased him, darting past him. “Race you to the pier.”

 

Draco watched as her long legs moved with practiced ease to push her forward before he pedaled quickly. With his long legs, he was able to pedal twice as fast as she, but he stayed a couple of feet behind her, marveling at the way her shoulder blades moved under blemish free, golden skin. He has kissed along that shoulder the night before and if Draco tried hard enough, he could still taste the cocoa of her sun potion on her skin.

 

They were nearing the pier and she picked up her pace. He pushed harder, still keeping behind her, watching her heart-shaped bottom move as her legs worked frantically. _Sweet Merlin, have mercy._ Never one to be outdone, he smirked as she passed the pier and turned to look over her shoulder at him, a triumphant smile on her lips. “I win.”

 

“Oh, doll. Do you really? Because I’ve had the most _tantalizing_ view from back here. I’d call this an impasse,” he told her, and her lips turned upright ever more in the sexiest smile.

 

“You do look good behind me,” she replied, turning to face forward.

 

Draco looked up at the sky and groaned audibly. This witch knew exactly what she was doing, what all of her playful, innuendo-laden banter was causing. He rode up so that they were even with one another and then pulled off to go closer to the waves. Without going into the water, he extended his leg and kicked at the waves as they climbed up the shore. Granger pointed her own toe straight at the ground and allowed the water to wash over her as well.

 

The witch was magnificent when she looked so carefree and young, laughing giddily with bright eyes and her hair falling from its knot. Something as simple as riding a bicycle in the breaking tide made her cheerful and he could not help but feel the same youthful happiness spread through him as they rode.

 

They followed the shoreline, around and past where the Muggles unloaded fishing boats, past the fairgrounds where the Ferris wheel loomed overhead. They went up and down every street on the island, twice. The hours passed, the two of them laughing and carrying on as though they hadn’t a care in the world. As they continued to ride, the populated areas of the port tapered off and other people became few and far between. Draco closed his eyes as the wind played across his face and almost felt as though he were flying. Merlin, how long had it been since he had flown for fun? Years—two at least.

 

“You enjoying this?” Granger asked, poking his arm from beside him.

 

He reopened his eyes and smiled down at her. “I am. It’s similar to flying, but still different—lazier, easier.”

 

“Says the one who placed a staying charm on his to keep it up,” she replied, giving him a wink before taking off once again, a joyous laugh breaking through the still summer air.

 

The little minx thought she was so clever, her little quips so humorous. Draco watched her ride ahead for a few moments before she suddenly turned sharply to the right, heading straight for a field of massive sunflowers. He furrowed his brow as he slowed to a stop at the spot where she had turned. The canary yellow bicycle was on the ground, but the witch was nowhere in sight. “What on earth?”

 

Draco dismounted his bicycle and placed it directly next to hers and stepped into a narrow space between two rows of sunflowers, the stems nearly nine feet tall and swaying in the breeze. The heads of the flowers were easily as large as his face and the most vibrant shades of yellow and orange.

 

The blond glanced around himself and tried to see any sign of where she could have gone. “Granger?” he called, listening for rustling.

 

“You’ve got to find me!” he heard her voice from somewhere to his left, distant and muffled.

 

“And what shall I get if I find you?” he voiced, a flock of blackbirds fluttering away from him as he pushed gently through the flowers.

 

“So now you need a prize?” she teased, and now her voice sounded even further.

 

“I need some incentive not to simply leave you here to frolic amongst the flowers alone,” he told her, his voice vibrating deep in his chest as he called to her.

 

“Hmm, I’m sure you would think of something,” Granger replied and there was a rustling close to his right side.

 

His eyes darted between the rows, trying to catch any hint of her golden skin, her chestnut curls. “I can think of twenty _somethings_.”

 

“ _If_ you were to find me,” she called, her voice sounding twenty meters away, but the flowers behind him brushing against one another.

 

The witch was playing a little game of cat and mouse and using magic to try and trick his senses. _Clever_. Draco closed his eyes and tried to feel the vibrations of her magic, which should be evident to feel on the muggle side of the island, unencumbered by ley lines and other magical beings. “Oh, trust me when I say, I have the tenacity of a niffler. I will find you.”

 

“And what shall you do when you find me?” her voice came from right over his shoulder and whispered into his ear and he actually had to open his eyes to make sure she was not standing right behind him.

 

“I’m going to pick up where we left off last night,” he told her, with a lick of his lips.

 

Draco’s mouth nearly watered at the thought of being able to kiss her. “You think I would like that, do you?” she asked, throwing her voice toward the street they had left behind.

 

He stood still and listened once more, trying to pick up on her warmth, her vibrations. The wizard took five steps to his left and knew he was going in the right direction. He remained deathly quiet as he stalked in her direction, a silencing spell and a cushioning spell reducing any noise he was making. “Hmm, no witty little retort, then?” Granger called out once more, worrying over his silence.

 

Draco went on instinct and caught a glimmer of her hair as she ducked between two rows a dozen meters ahead. A grin spread across his face as he stalked forward, silent and stealthy. He had Seeker’s speed and agility on his side and he easily dipped out of her sight when she looked in his direction. “Malfoy? Are you giving up, then? Not feeling so confident anymore?” she taunted, and he stepped into the small clearing where she waited, her back to him.

 

He fought a laugh as he took two large paces and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Clever little witch, throwing your voice and wind charms about to trick me.”

 

Granger squealed in delight and bent forward, laughing as she tried to escape his grasp. “Let me go!”

 

Draco grinned and held her tighter. “Oh, no, love. You said if I found you, I could claim my prize.”

 

“I said nothing of the sort!” she exclaimed jovially, squirming once more, though her attempts were half-hearted.

 

“That’s not what I heard—you said, and I quote, ‘I’m sure you can think of something!’ Well, I’ve thought of something I would like to do, if you’d let me,” Draco told her, finally dropping his lips to skim along her skin.

 

Her coquettish protestations ended as he nipped where her neck swept into her shoulder, following the path he had taken the night before. His hands roamed, pressed flat against her belly as he pulled her closer to himself. Her skin was an intoxicating mixture of sweet perfume and salty perspiration and it was maddening.

 

With her back pressed against him, she put one hand up to thrust into the hair at the nape of his neck and tilted her head to one side to allow him better access. Draco brushed his lips along, touching her skin so lightly that gooseflesh rose along her chest and arms despite the warmth of July. He smiled against her skin at the feel. “Granger,” his voice was a low rumble at the back of his throat.

 

With his pleading utterance of her surname, the petite witch turned in his arms. There was no hesitation as their lips came together, a soft sigh escaping on her breath. Her hands wound around his lapels and she pulled him closer to herself. Draco leaned into her, so desperate to drink in her soul-quenching kiss, that her back arched and she stumbled back a step. Granger pulled back to suckle at his bottom lip, and he gladly parted to allow her entrance.

 

The little vixen kissed him with conviction and it occurred to Draco, somewhere in the back of his lust-filled brain, that she never did anything half-arsed so he should have expected this. His hands slid over her sides, pressing into the ridges of her ribcage as she stretched up to wrap her arms around his neck and play with his hair.

 

Her shallow breaths were hot against his face as he pulled back to kiss along her jaw, trying to catch his own breath before he captured her lips once more. Every instance he had experienced with her since coming to Cosrosa had been a sweet little tease, but nothing could compare to the feel of her tongue dancing fiercely with his, her fingernails raking over his scalp.

 

Draco was content to stay amidst the flowers and taste this sweet witch for the rest of his life, but she finally pulled back after a few moments. He fought a grunt of disappointment as his lips tingled at the loss of hers. “We should head back,” she told him, licking her kiss-swollen lips.

 

“Head back? Why?” he asked, looking up at the sky.

 

They had ridden around the island for hours, bringing them to the evening. Though sunset was still a couple of hours off, he knew she was right. But his mind and body wanted nothing more than to remain hidden with her. She stepped in close to him again and brought her lips along the dip above his collarbone and then traced her tongue along the column of his throat until she reached his chin and placed a chaste kiss there. Looking him straight in the eye, she placed her hands on either of his hips and ground hers against his bulging trousers. “Wouldn’t want to do something we’d both regret tomorrow.”

 

“I regret nothing,” Draco tried as she stepped around him, still holding his hand as she pulled him toward the entrance to the sunflower labyrinth they had gotten lost in.

 

“Neither do I,” she told him, touching her temple to his shoulder as they walked hand-in-hand. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to shag you right here.”

 

“At least, not right now,” he clarified with a laugh.

 

Granger looked up at him and nudged his arm with hers. “You’ve _just_ worked up the courage to even kiss me, you dolt!”

 

“Me?” Draco asked, a dramatic hand over his heart. “Oh, little lioness, I have been ready to kiss you since you decided to give the waitresses a little show that day in the café.”

 

“I licked tangerine juice from your thumb, don’t make it sound like I climbed under the table and pulled your trousers to your knees,” Granger told him cheekily.

 

“I’m always up for returning to the café, if you’d like to add that to your agenda,” Draco replied, testing how far he could push the limits on sexual banter.

 

“Yes, but how would you ever get back to the villa if you can’t walk?” she challenged, keeping up with his quips quite readily.

 

“Are you saying your skills could render a man incapacitated?”

 

“Wouldn’t you just _love_ to know?” she asked him, an eyebrow raised at the lusting look on his face.

 

“New plan—we head back to my room and then neither of us would have to walk anywhere for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” he said, half wondering if she would actually agree.

 

Granger let out a loud laugh, her shoulders shaking with the force. “Are these the pick-up lines you used on the Slytherin girls all of those years in school?”

 

“I didn’t have to try much—my good looks and massive wealth helped me along,” he replied with a shrug.

 

“Hmm, yes. The illustriously sexy and imperceivably affluent Draco Malfoy. Who could resist?” she teased, intertwining their fingers.

 

“You trying to say I have _zero_ effect on you?” he asked, turning her to face him. “Do I need to test that theory?”

 

He brought his lips to hers once more and she whimpered at his adamant ministrations on her lips. She smiled and bit his bottom lip, not quite so softly, and pulled back, pushing his chest away. “No effect whatsoever,” she told him stubbornly, turning to walk away.

 

Draco watched her hips sway as she went before he followed. “I suppose that means I’ll just have to find company in another witch, then?” he asked casually, his tone still teasing, his prick still painfully at attention within his trousers.

 

Granger looked over her shoulder, a smoldering fire in her eyes as she lifted one shoulder into a falsely nonchalant shrug. “If you must—I’m sure there _might_ be another witch on the island Theo hasn’t gotten to yet.”

 

Draco hummed. “Doubtful.”

 

“Looks like you may need to venture into town and dazzle some poor, defenselessly daft muggle,” she told him.

 

The wizard caught her hand once more as they neared their discarded bicycles and stepped into her, placing his hands on either side of her face. “Or, you can stop being so stubborn and just _give in_ to what you want for once.”

 

The witch looked up at him, an attractive blush creeping under her olive skin. Her countenance sobered, and she was looking at him with no trace of her former playfulness. “What are we even doing together, Malfoy? The War only ended a couple of months ago and before that day, we were enemies!”

 

Draco frowned as her words washed over him. “I don’t know what we’re doing or why, all I know is that you have enchanted me beyond measure. I can’t apologize enough for the past and for everything I did and said. But, Merlin, Hermione, I _want_ you. To kiss you, to hold you, to be the cause of that charming little laugh.”

 

“And what about at the end of summer, hmm? What then? Shall we just separate and pretend this never happened?” she demanded, pulling her face away from his grasp.

 

“Why do we have to put an end date on something? I _want_ you, more than I have ever wanted another witch. And I _know_ you feel the same,” Draco took her hand. “Don’t you?”

 

Granger was silent a moment, weighing and selecting her words carefully he knew. “I do, and it terrifies me.”

 

“Why? Because it’s me? Because of this,” he asked, raising his arm so his Dark Mark was between them.

 

Granger placed her hand over it and Draco felt the faintest of tingles. “No,” she whispered, appalled at the insinuation.

 

She leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with her own lightly. When she pulled back, there was a sparkle in her chocolate orbs, an emotion he could not read. “Because it’s sudden and unexpected. We’ve only been cordial for a matter of weeks and already I feel this _pull_ to you.”

 

“Granger—Hermione, you are the first person who has made me feel _anything_ since the War ended. I holed up in my room, sleeping away the numbness day after day. And what you make me feel—it’s indescribable. I’ve never felt this recklessly drawn to any other person in my life. I want to get lost in you—your kisses, your touches, your sweet body—every minute of every day until we _must_ separate,” he told her, placing his palm over her pulse point and nuzzling his nose against hers before kissing her once more.

 

Granger’s response was to wrap her arms around his neck and press herself flush against him. Draco did not wish to face the reality that the end of summer would separate them once more. He knew he was, as Theo had said, playing with fire. But Merlin, he was ready for a lick of that fire to engulf him completely.

 

o-o-o


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

 

Draco stretched his torso long, arms above his head, cracking the joint in his shoulder. It was early morning, the thirty-first day of July. He and Granger had swum in the sea until the wee hours of the morning and, as he sat in the cool dawn air, he could still taste the salt water from her lips. It had been three days since they had first kissed, and each day they got a little closer to one another.

 

He woke with Granger on his mind, tossed and turned with her on his mind, dreamt of her in slumber. If he had known before the War that the witch was so positively enticing, he thought he may have just joined the Order, if only to have had a fighting chance with her for longer than a few stolen weeks in summer.

 

Draco dipped his brush into a lovely shade of indigo, smearing it against the plastic of the palette so that he could bring a small dollop of purple to play. Granger had long been his muse, since before she had even found out about his embarrassing pastime. But lately, knowing _precisely_ what her lips tasted like—he was able to incorporate that into his art. Her lips in his latest painting compared to his first portrait, were slightly plumper—kiss-swollen. And she had the most endearing freckle on her top lip, unnoticeable until one got a hairsbreadth from her face.

 

Prior to his newfound obsession with the striking witch, Draco had enjoyed painting landscapes. Now he had the opportunity to capture the beauty of the sea dancing along and playing with Granger’s natural beauty. Day was breaking on the horizon and a stray tourist was strolling along the shoreline.

 

Draco could not believe the way things were progressing with the swotty little know-it-all Gryffindor. He was having a hard time rationalizing the way he felt around her. All he wanted was to kiss her, to taste her sun-kissed skin, to listen to her talk about any and everything. He had never felt more alive than when he was around her. The wizard dreaded the day she would leave the island, and him, behind her.

 

Draco knew he did not deserve her. He had done nothing heroic or brave during the War. He’d cowered under the Dark Lord’s iron fist and hid until the very end, intent on keeping himself and his parents alive. She was a heroine, had fought valiantly her entire life, just about. He had berated and belittled her because of her blood. She had been ridiculed—mostly by him, but also by others—for being the bossy little know-it-all, always with her hand in the air and her nose in a book. And she had fought heroically alongside Potter and Weasley and defeated the Dark Lord. Three teenagers had done what countless witches and wizards had not been able to achieve. If he were honest, he could admit that he was slightly jealous of their success.

 

No doubt Granger had received numerous job offers from any entity worth their weight in galleons. After she unnecessarily completed her seventh year at Hogwarts, she would be off to save the world once more, working for the Ministry and saving defenseless creatures or hairbrained squibs. But where would he be? Draco had never given any real thought to what he wanted to do with his life—he had never expected to make it out of the War unscathed and had certainly never thought about having to earn a living. He still had enough wealth that he did not truly _need_ to work. But he preferred his mind and hands being busy once more, having spent so long numb and hidden away.

 

Draco stood and stretched once more, going to lean on his balcony railing as the breeze ruffled his hair. Granger’s light was on in her suite, her silhouette moving about as she pulled on a robe. The French door to her room opened and she stepped out, a mug of coffee between her hands. Her eyes shot straight to where he stood and she gave him a wry smile. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said by way of explanation.

 

“Neither could I,” he called back. “Want company?”

 

Granger gave him a sly grin and pretended to think about it for a moment. “I suppose I could use some mediocre banter and dry humor.”

 

“Ouch, Granger,” he said before apparating down to her patio. “I’m offended.”

 

He kissed her temple and sat alongside where she stretched out in her lounge chair. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked, his fingers brushing her curls—wild and unkempt with sleep—away from her face.

 

She was silent for a moment, sipping her coffee before responding. “I still have nightmares. Frequently.”

 

It was a statement Draco could appreciate. “Would you like to talk about it?”

 

Granger shrugged her shoulders and looked into her mug, running her finger over the rim. “Harry never wants to speak about the War.”

 

“So, you’ve told me. But I am not Potter,” Draco replied simply. “I’ve told you that I still have nightmares about _that_ day.”

 

The witch lifted her eyes and looked to his, seeking something from him. But what? Assurance, comfort, understanding? “I do, too. I can hear her cackling. See you standing by your mother at the fireplace,” she whispered quietly.

 

Draco felt as though he would burst into flame at any moment. The blood running through his veins felt more like poison and he was certain he was going deaf. Because she was still moving her lips, but he could not hear her. He could only see and hear the scene as she had described it—with him standing by the fireplace, looking down upon her as his aunt trained her wand on Granger.

 

He took a deep breath to try and clear his thoughts. It was not a day he had allowed himself to dwell on much since he had befriended her—it was not brought up every day in conversation and it was easy to forget that they had once been mortal foes with how readily they were willing to get lost in one another.

 

Draco looked at her neck, where his aunt had pressed the sharp end of a dagger into her neck and left a small, angry scar. He brought his lips to it and sighed against her skin. “I don’t even know what to say to make it any better, Granger.”

 

“I don’t want you to apologize. I just want someone who _understands_ ,” she told him, her eyes closed as he placed tender kisses along her neck.

 

He sat upright once more, leaning on his knees and facing her side. Draco understood, more than she would ever know. The wizard relived the day over and over again in his mind, the worst in his life. “Do you ever have side effects? From the Cruciatus Curse?”

 

She shrugged. “Sometimes I ache for no apparent reason. Get unexplainable tremors. But I’m unsure if its nerves or after effects.”

 

“I wish we could go back in time and I would take everything away.”

 

Granger brought her hand up and touched his face. “I don’t. I’m stronger than I was before and that day proved it. I did not give in to your aunt’s requests, despite the excruciating pain.”

 

“You were amazing,” he conceded, giving her a half-smile.

 

“I like the stubble. Keep it,” she told him, changing the subject as she touched the light hair peppering his jaw.

 

Their talk of the War was over for the day. She had said her piece and he had listened just long enough. They were now ready to get back to their summer romance, however strange and sordid it was.

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione looked around her with a sharp gasp, taking in the sight before her. She and Malfoy had spent the better part of the last two hours weaving through a thicket of dense shrubbery, along a walk-worn dirt path and blanketed under a canopy of trees. She had inquired as to why they could not simply apparate to the destination. _“The end justifies the means,”_ he had responded mysteriously.

 

The trek up the side of a mountain, through a rainforest—who would have thought there could possibly be a rainforest this far north of the equator—had been long and arduous. Malfoy, decidedly in _much_ better shape physically, seemed unaffected except for a single bead of sweat running from his temple to his jawline. Her aching joints and burning calf muscles were nearly forgotten as she looked around.

 

They were standing on a rocky ledge and directly ahead of them, a waterfall cascaded between two rocky walls, landing in a turquoise colored basin. From where they stood, Hermione could see colorful pebbles lining the bottom, though she tried to look straight ahead instead of straight down as her stomach began to turn uneasily. All around them, lush greenery carpeted the landscape and hibiscus flowers larger than their heads blossomed. There were dragonflies the size of sparrows flitting about, chasing each other lazily in the warm air. It smelled of newly turned earth, fresh water, and a muted floral perfume.

 

If she thought their surroundings were going to be the most beautiful sight of the day, nothing could have prepared her for her partner’s next actions. Next to her, Draco began dragging his shirt over his head. She looked at him, her mouth slightly agape as he smirked and began untying his swim shorts.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice raising an octave with panic.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hot after that hike,” he said with a shrug.

 

“You could keep your shorts on,” she pointed out.

 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he questioned, sliding his hands along his hips and dragging his shorts down.

 

Hermione could feel her face burning, having nothing to do with the warmth of the environment, and she vaguely noted that his skin was flushed when he rose and gave her a smoldering look. It took every ounce of self-control not to lower her gaze and drink him in completely, an effort he seemed to note. “You can look,” he whispered when he leaned in to kiss her collarbone. “I don’t mind.”

 

Her heart was racing dangerously, and she could feel it in her chin with every forceful beat. Malfoy pulled back and she her eyes did a very quick once over, much to his delight, before she pointedly ignored his nudity. He tugged at one of her curls loose from her high messy bun and rolled his eyes. “Prudish Granger. Predictable.”

 

Before she could respond, he turned and took a great leap from where they stood. Hermione screamed—it was too shallow, he would hit the bottom. He landed with a great splash in the water and then his head popped above the surface a moment later. “Can you swim?” he called up tauntingly.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course I can—we _did_ swim until near daybreak.”

 

“Then get down here,” he said, floating on his back.

 

The spray coming off of the waterfall told her the water was cool and it was tantalizing against her overheated skin. With another defeated look in his direction, she stripped herself of her jean shorts and top, leaving her in a conservative one-piece bathing suit. Malfoy was watching her every move lazing about on his back, more under the water’s surface than above it.

 

“How very _proper_ ,” he laughed over the sound of the waterfall crashing down. “I think you wear such _boring_ bathing suits so that no one could challenge you to go topless. Of course, not everyone has the gumption of Luna Lovegood.”

 

Hermione was astute enough to realize that Malfoy was goading her into going nude as well by challenging her bravado. She was also astute enough to realize that it was working. He wanted a little show? Why not give him one? Her mind flashed briefly to the night they had danced, to her solo actions after. In the moment, she had wantonly desired for him to be able to see her naked, to see how he affected her into needing a release. In the scorching heat of the Italian summer, she began to get that familiar heat behind her bellybutton, a stirring between her thighs as she allowed her eyes to roam from his half-submerged face, all the way down the length of his lithe figure.

 

The witch, gathering all of her courage, put her fingers into the top of her suit and took a deep breath. Malfoy stopped his indolent backstroke and put his legs under the water, watching her with a fascinated interest. “I hate you so much, Malfoy,” she mumbled under her breath as she pulled her suit down and stepped out of it.

 

She refused to look down at him, partly because the height was making her nauseated and partly because of her mortification. He let out a low whistle and Hermione fought the urge to cover up. After all, he hadn’t. Instead, the witch pulled her tie from her hair and shook her curls out. The blonde’s lips moved and though she couldn’t hear it, she was certain he had sworn to himself.

 

She tried to figure out how she would get down from the cliff. Her heart felt like it would detach itself and flutter off at any moment, her nerves overtaking her entire being. “Just close your eyes and jump,” he urged from below, seeming to sense her reluctance.

 

Hermione stepped to the edge of the cliff and hesitated for a moment. “We were higher on the Ferris wheel!” he reminded her.

 

She closed her eyes and thrust forward, hopping from the cliff and plummeting toward the watering hole. The witch landed with a splash, the frigid water temperatures stealing her breath before she even broke the water’s surface upon her ascend. “Oh, oh that’s cold!”

 

Malfoy laughed next to her, dipping his head under and bringing it back up to push his hair back. He had moved toward the outer edge, closer to the banks, where he could stand upright. The resulting look reminded her too much of second-year Malfoy and she made her way to him and ruffled it to try and tamp down the memory.

 

Her body brushed against his under the water and she watched as the grey irises of his eyes thinned and he eyed her with thinly veiled arousal. Bracing herself with one hand on his shoulder, Hermione brushed a thumb over the stubble along his jawline and moved close enough that she could tangle their legs. Malfoy let out a groan at the feel of her against him and she brought her lips to his before he could say anything.

 

It was not the heated, fervent kisses they had shared in the sunflowers or in the sea. Nor was it the slow, lazy kiss they had shared on the stairs leading to her villa the night before. This was an exploratory kiss, both begging permission and both providing it. Malfoy brought his hand from her curls to run along her side as his other arm held her close to himself. Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples already taut and pebbled from the cold and he snaked a hand between them to cup and massage them each in turn.

 

At the feel of his hands, _finally_ touching her bare skin, Hermione pulled back and bit his bottom lip, causing him to let out a small, impatient noise. Enjoying the power she currently held over him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, a purposeful brush against his cock as she did so. “I want you,” he rasped when he pulled away to kiss her bare shoulder.

 

She responded only with a roll of her hips, his stiff arousal grazing her once more. His hands went under her to grab harshly at her arse, just as she had once imagined they would, and he sucked at her shoulder hard enough to leave a love bite. All blood not staining the surfaces below her skin seemed to be rushing between her legs as she felt a throb. Hermione untangled her legs from him and pushed away.

 

The disappointed look that crossed his face nearly made her pounce on him once more. Instead, she turned and waded out of the water, looking back at him expectantly. Malfoy followed and as the witch tried to sway her hips alluringly, her footing caught on the slippery rocks and her legs fell out from beneath her. Her hands caught her fall, but her knee banged painfully against the stone. “Fuck!” Malfoy swore and was next to her in a split second as she sat on her bum.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, worrying over her naked frame with his hands, assessing that there were no broken bones in her legs or wrists.

 

Hermione groaned, but it was more out of embarrassment than pain. She rested back along the smooth pebbles of the banks, willing a patch of quicksand to open up and swallow her whole just then. Malfoy apparated to the rocky ledge where they had disrobed and back, his wand in hand. “Does this hurt?” he asked her calmly, prodding her knee gently.

 

She said nothing, only winced, as she looked up toward the canopy of trees that blocked most of the sunlight, save a few rogue streams from between the branches. Malfoy muttered a few healing spells and she felt the knot in her knee decrease in size and the pain subsided nearly immediately. His nimble finger massaged circles around it and she was acutely aware that, as he worked to ease her discomfort, his eyes were roving over her. _Smooth as glass._ Hermione suddenly felt a fresh wave of mortification and tried to clamp her thighs together.

 

Malfoy made a noise at the back of his throat, halfway between a whimper and a growl and his hands left her knee. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he whispered, sliding his hands down the fronts of her thighs.

 

When he got in the middle of her thighs, he softly pulled them apart once more. Hermione looked down her chest toward him from where she was still laying back, leaning up on her elbows to watch his movements. Malfoy’s eyes sparkled mischievously and he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to her silky smooth mons. Her breathing hitched when she realized what his intentions were, and he looked up to give her a smirk. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she responded by spreading her legs infinitesimally. He used his wand to place a cushioning charm on the ground around them and then slid down so that his shoulders kept her thighs spread.

 

Malfoy wrapped his arms under her legs, bending them and he reached up toward her hips to pull her closer to his face. He must have sensed how tense Hermione was because he placed an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of her thigh. “Relax and enjoy this,” he instructed patiently.

 

Hermione’s anxiety spiked as he kissed along the inside of one thigh, the kisses wet and heated with grazes of teeth. He got agonizingly close to where she was beginning to feel she desperately needed him, and then backed away to kiss from her other knee, down her inner thigh toward her core. At the feel of his stubble rubbing sensually across her hyper-sensitive skin, her hips squirmed before him and his grip tightened along her sides. “Stay still,” he demanded quietly.

 

Finally, finally, he dipped his face and ran his tongue along her seam. Hermione let out a hiss of breath and laid back. Malfoy growled at the back of his throat and the feel of the rumble sent a shiver up her spine that caused a tingling in her scalp. “I was wrong—you feel like Heaven, but fuck, you _taste_ divine,” he muttered, placing a gentle kiss before his tongue began its prior efforts.

 

As his tongue danced circles over her, his hands gripping her tightly, she put a hand into his hair and attempted to pull him closer. He increased the pressure of his tongue, sucking tenderly on her arousal-swollen clit and eliciting a heady moan from her. Malfoy’s hand slid from her sides to a breast, pinching her nipple roughly before he slid his hand down over her hip and dipped a finger into her.

 

She could not bring herself to worry about what they were doing—she had wanted to have sex with him every day for weeks now. Hermione allowed her brain to shut down enough to just enjoy the gratifying ministrations of his mouth and hands, to enjoy that it _was_ Draco Malfoy doing this to her. Draco Malfoy—the ex-Death Eater, the darkness, the angsty and aggravatingly sexy wizard—was eating her out like he was starved. And she _loved_ it.

 

With his long fingers and his mouth both working her, she was having trouble thinking coherently enough to say anything. Instead, her breaths became panting and her body was heating up exponentially, all of the chill from the water gone. As Hermione’s entire body began to tremor and shake, she knotted her fists into his hair once more and pressed him closer. The come-hither motion of his fingers had her arching and quaking, his given name falling from her lips as she came undone.

 

She didn’t even realize her thighs were clamped around his face until he gently pried them away from himself and kissed her thigh. “I’d ask if you enjoyed that but given the fact that you haven’t let me breathe in nearly two minutes, I already know you did,” he told her, climbing up and pressing his lips to hers.

 

 _“’Mione, where are you guys? We were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago!”_ Harry Potter’s voice floated through the forest, louder even than the waterfall crashing down beside them.

 

Hermione scrambled to cover herself as Malfoy let out a long-suffering groan. Her eyes darted around when a luminescent stag stepped out of the tree line. It repeated its message and she ran a hand over her face, willing her heart rate to slow. “A corporeal patronus.”

 

Malfoy was sitting up beside her, leaning back on his palms, the mood completely killed at the sound of the Chosen One’s voice. Hermione leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger against his skin a little longer than necessary. “Come on, let’s get dressed and go. I didn’t realize how late it was getting,” she commented, casting a look toward the sky she could hardly see for all of the plant life.

 

“Let’s. I’m going to do the one thing the Dark Lord couldn’t—I’m going to off that sorry sod for interrupting us,” he grumbled moodily.

 

They agreed to meet the others for Harry’s birthday party that evening—they had charted a boat to take out onto the Mediterranean. The only part that Hermione had neglected to tell Malfoy began to weigh heavily on her as they apparated up to the ledge and began redressing. “What’s the matter? You don’t look like a woman who just had a particularly _sweet_ orgasm,” he mentioned, licking his lips as if savoring the taste.

 

He dragged his shirt over his head and Hermione’s stomach did a flip. Noting the serious look on her face, he furrowed his brow. “What?”

 

“Ron and Ginny came to the island to celebrate with Harry,” she said quickly, the words all bleeding together.

 

Malfoy’s mouth fell open as he wrinkled his face in disgust. “You tell me that your ex is going to be waltzing into your life in less than ten minutes _after_ you came on my face?”

 

Hermione felt her face redden as she swatted his arm. “Don’t be so crass! You don’t have to go…if you don’t want to.”

 

“No. I really _don’t_ want to. I didn’t before and now I definitely don’t,” he told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I’d like for you to, though,” she said as she placed a hand on his arm, her eyes pleading with him to acquiesce.

 

His jaw clicked as he clenched it and he groaned. “I really didn’t feel much like getting into a duel tonight.”

 

“No duel. If he acts up, we can leave. Or, conversely, _I’ll_ hex him,” she promised.

 

o-o-o

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

 

Theo and Blaise had come together and rented a small schooner-like boat to go sailing for the evening. Harry had protested wildly at first, but the Slytherins were persistent. It still blew Hermione’s mind that everyone all got along fairly enough, but her stomach turned over at the thought of how Ron would react to she and Malfoy.

 

As they neared the docks, their friends became visible, standing alongside a boat. Harry was gesticulating toward the boat and the Slytherins, Ron had his arms crossed and was looking an unhealthy shade of purple and Ginny was looking between them all. Luna was smiling and drawing something in the sand as the others spoke. Malfoy’s fingers brushed against hers, asking silently if she would be claiming him or not. There was a throb between her legs and she was reminded of him being nestled there not even ten minutes before. How could she _not_ claim him with the chemistry the two of them held? She laced her fingers with his, giving him an answer.

 

Ginny looked over Harry’s shoulder at she and Malfoy approaching and took off at as fast a sprint as the sand would allow. A tiny fire-haired imp barreled into her chest and nearly knocked the wind out of her. Ginny was crying, speaking so quickly that Hermione had a hard time catching everything. She dropped Malfoy’s hand momentarily and put her arms around her friend. “Mum has been absolutely fraught with grief—she didn’t even say _anything_ when Charlie went and got a giant tattoo across his back, commemorating Fred!”

 

“I’m sure—it was one of her children—”

 

“And she’s been asking after you and Harry, except we didn’t know what to tell her, because we haven’t really talked to you until _Blaise Zabini_ wrote us to ask if we would come for Harry’s birthday!”

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t write. It’s just, I think Harry was still pretty upset over it all at first and then we got here and—”

 

“And, Bill and Fleur just announced they’re having a baby!”

 

“That’s wonderful, Gin. I’m so happy for—”

 

“And you’re dating _Malfoy?_ ”

 

Their conversation bounced back and forth at a speed that looked to have Malfoy’s head spinning. Ginny and Hermione broke apart, and the redhead eyed the blond suspiciously. Hermione laced her fingers with his once more. “Something like that,” she replied, smiling up at him.

 

He smirked at the incredulous look of disgust on her face. “Try not to die of shock, Red.”

 

“But it’s Malfoy!” Ginny quietly protested, leaning in to nearly whisper it into Hermione’s ear, as though the rest of the island might hear of the scandal.

 

“And I am Hermione,” the brunette said, “so what is your point?”

 

“It’s _Draco Malfoy!”_

 

“So, you’ve said three times now. Do you have an objection of some kind, or are you going to keep saying my name over and over?” Malfoy retorted, his drawl bored and unamused.

 

“I’ll leave that to Hermione,” Ginny replied with a shudder and she turned to look at the others.

 

Everyone was glancing in their direction, and Ron looked as though he would implode like a nuclear bomb at any given moment. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” she told them, sounding more like she would rather face a mother Hungarian horntail guarding its nest than Ron Weasley after he found out his best friend was dating his lifelong foe.

 

She noticed Malfoy’s hand go into his pocket, no doubt to curve around his wand in preparation. She juggled their clasped hands between them. “No dueling. I promised we would leave if he was too tempestuous. Or that I would hex him in your stead.”

 

“Never hurts to keep your guard up,” she thought he mumbled.

 

They arrived where the others were congregated and she noticed that Ginny went to stand behind her brother, instead of near to any of them. Hermione finally lifted her eyes to meet her redheaded best friend’s gaze and found that the look on his face was not one of rage, but more of hurt and possibly betrayal. “Ron,” she said, by way of greeting.

 

“’Mione,” he replied, looking as though he might step forward to give her a hug but thinking twice as she was still holding Malfoy’s hand.

 

Hermione wrangled her hand from the blonde’s grasp, which had firmed the closer they had drawn to the others and stepped forward to give him a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

 

“Looks like,” Ron mumbled, even as he wrapped his arms around her.

 

She pulled back and gave him a warning glare to which he ground his teeth. “You and I are no longer together, so I fail to see why you are so upset.”

 

“Because you are dating the enemy,” he hissed and Malfoy stepped forward and slightly in front of Hermione.

 

“In case you haven’t heard, Weasel, the War is over and I defected. And it just so happens that Granger and I share an incredibly strong chemistry—mentally and _physically_ ,” Malfoy retorted, his tone almost taunting.

 

Feeling annoyed with the battle of testosterone, Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s right, Ronald. The war is over and we are trying to heal. _Together._ ”

 

“And where were you this whole time? When we were trying to heal after my brother’s death?” he accused. “Shagging Malfoy!”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but both Malfoy and Harry got between them. “Hermione, let’s go,” Malfoy implored, placing his hands on her shoulders.

 

“Ron, please calm down,” Harry was saying behind him. “Let’s celebrate my birthday. The Slytherins have all been alright. We’ve had some great fun here on the island.”

 

“And in the sky,” Luna reminded him, standing from where she had drawn a few random sigils into the sand.

 

“And in the sky,” Harry confirmed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

 

Ginny’s eyes narrowed before she raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged and gestured to the boat. “Shall we?”

 

Ron pushed past everyone to get on first and Hermione sensed a rolling sadness coming off of him. She sighed and Malfoy turned to shoot a glare in her direction before following suit, accusing her with only his eyes of not telling him sooner of Ron coming to Cosrosa. Blaise and Theo were next, with Theo clapping a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Theo always seemed to sense the blonde’s moods and knew precisely how to comfort him. Hermione felt a pang of sadness at the way their friendship was still as easy as ever in the aftermath of the War. Her own friendship with Ron and even Ginny was crumbling and she knew that her choice in beau was not going to bode well. She could sense a tempest on the horizon, the shaky discontent and heavy tension that sat, stagnant in the air between them all. Harry sighed and shepherded Luna up the gangway and onto the boat’s deck.

 

Hermione groaned and stomped her way up after everyone and waved her wand to vanish the gangway. Theo was working on the magical controls, trying to get the boat away from the dock. Hermione plopped down on the stationary seat next to Malfoy. Blaise was busy passing never-ending bottles of Werewolf’s Ale to each of them. Ginny was eyeing Harry, who was trying to settle into being comfortable as the tension in the air became overwhelmingly palpable. Ron took a bottle from Blaise, grumbling a ‘thank you,’ and it seemed as though he was venturing through every shade of scarlet into puce he could muster.

 

Luna rose as the boat sailed faster and farther out into the sea. She pulled her dress up and over her head and settled back into her chair, lounging back to gather some of the last rays of the day’s sun. Ginny and Ron both stared at her with mouths agape. “Luna, what in the bloody _hell_ are you doing?” Ginny shrieked.

 

The blonde opened one eye and peeked at the witch. “The sun’s rays contain traces of libido strengthening Harpy dust. I’m just trying to get my fill before sunset. You should try it.”

 

Ginny looked scandalized and her eyes flickered over to her brother before she clamped her mouth shut and sat back. Ron’s eyes went to Hermione and she tucked closer into Malfoy’s side. “I’ll remain clothed.”

 

“No problem with libido here,” Malfoy mumbled under his breath, his hand gliding from her knee and up her thigh a few inches.

 

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance and swatted his hand away, causing him to move it possessively from her knee to tickle his lithe fingers along the back of her neck. Ron narrowed his eyes even more and took three giant swigs of his drink, emptying the bottle, which promptly refilled itself. “I’d say,” Theo commented, sitting on the bench seat at the boat’s edge, the boat now magically steering them toward the horizon. “The looks you two have been giving each other make me want to vomit.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco draped an arm around her shoulders and took a swig of his ale. Ron sat back but said nothing, and Hermione could see a war bubbling below the surface. What was he doing? Thinking? It was not like Ron to take something so monumental in stride. She had expected a yelling match, a verbal sparring that she would inevitably win because Ron was not near witty enough to keep up. She expected him to turn around and go home or refuse to board the boat to celebrate.

 

Instead, Ron sat there, grumbling to himself, still a violent shade of mauve. He was watching her interactions with Malfoy like a hawk and seemed to be scrutinizing every move with something akin to disgust. “What do you say we do a little karaoke?” Ginny suggested, tuning the radio to the local wizarding station.

 

“I’m game. Blaise and I are quite adept at crooning some of the golden oldies’ love ballads,” Theo said, nudging Blaise with his forearm.

 

Blaise was eyeing Ginny as though she were the most attractive witch he had come into contact with since arriving on Cosrosa. She, for her part, was trying to ignore Harry and Luna and gave the handsome Italian a simpering grin when she caught him staring. “Why don’t you begin, then, Red? Since it was your idea,” Malfoy said from beside Hermione, one of his fingers twirling a curl.

 

Ginny grimaced and muttered, “I asked for that,” before she pointed her wand at her throat and magnified it slightly.

 

Hermione transfigured she and Malfoy’s harsh plastic chairs to overstuffed cushions for them to sit on, her stomach flopping unpleasantly. Unbeknownst to Hermione, the blond wizard caught Ron’s eye and began nuzzling his lips against her neck as she cheered Ginny on. Ron seemed to reach his breaking point just as Hermione let out a soft purr. “Tell me, exactly _how_ will this work?” he asked the couple aloud as Ginny continued singing and the others cheered her on.

 

“I’m not sure I follow your line of questioning, Weasley,” Malfoy told him lazily.

 

“You and Hermione. She’s returning back to Hogwarts in the fall. With Harry, Ginny, and Luna. McGonagall would never let you back into that school. So, what will happen in a month when Hermione leaves to go back to Hogwarts?” the redhead pressed.

 

“Ron,” Hermione warned, her head growing light as she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in an attempt to quell her nausea.

 

“What? He’s using you. Some summer fling,” he accused, pointing a finger at Malfoy.

 

“I would never—” Malfoy tried to protest.

 

“You would and you are! What is she? A way to better your name?” Ron asked, his voice an angry hiss as he tried not to interrupt everyone else’s fun.

 

Malfoy made to stand as Blaise and Theo began a duet, his wand already at the ready. Ron followed suit and jumped up, looking as though he had been preparing for a fight the entire night. Harry, sensing the brawl, stood as well. “Ron, please. Malfoy is not as bad as you think. And he’s been good to ‘Mione. It’s my birthday! Let’s just get along, for one night. Then we can show you the island tomorrow,” Harry nearly pleaded, and she could tell that he was wary of being around their longtime friends as well.

 

Something had shifted in their easy friendship. It was palpable between them, a stiff uneasiness that would have left her lightheaded even if she hadn’t been ready to vomit. Harry looked unhappy for the first time since arriving on the island—the reminder of their lives that the Weasleys had brought with them was unfortunate and indescribably agitating. Malfoy kept his wand raised, pointing right at Ron.

 

Hermione opened her mouth to chide the two imbeciles when she felt the sickening feel of vomit rising in her throat. She jumped up and ran to the bow of the boat, nudging Theo as she sprinted. “I’ll go after her,” she heard Malfoy tell Ron.

 

“She’s my best friend!”

 

“And she’s my…I’m going! Follow me and I’ll toss your arse overboard!” and then Malfoy was at her side, pulling her hair back and twisting it around his hand in a loose knot to keep it out of her face.

 

His other hand ran soothing circles over her back as he quietly shushed her. Hermione continued to vomit, her seasickness getting the better of her. How foolish not to drink an anti-nausea potion before heading out to sea. She was not sure she had ever felt so humiliated in her entire life. The party was still going on behind her, but the tension had only grown with her illness.

 

“That’s a good girl. Get it all up,” Malfoy murmured next to her.

 

When Hermione finally felt as though she could bear to look up, she did and found that Malfoy looked slightly paler himself. She deduced that he must not do well with vomit but had only come to her aid so that Ron would not have the satisfaction of doing so. “I need to lie down,” she told him, clutching her stomach and willing herself not to retch once more.

 

“There are small Captain’s quarters below deck. I’m sure they’ve stocked the bathroom with an anti-nausea potion of some kind,” he told her, leading her back toward the others.

 

“I’m going to take her to lie down,” he announced, opening the door to the Captain’s quarters.

 

“Damn, Granger. Couldn’t hold your alcohol? You did better last time!” Theo ribbed, a huge grin on his face that Hermione had the urge to punch away.

 

“Motion and I don’t mix,” was all she said as a reply, walking down the first few stairs.

 

“Keep your hands to yourself, ferret,” Ron warned, standing and jabbing his finger into Malfoy’s chest.

 

The blond narrowed his eyes at the redhead, staring him down and gave him a forceful shove. “Don’t _touch_ me.”

 

“Ron, stop it,” Ginny called from where she sat, running her fingers through Luna’s hair as the topless blond tried to find a song to sing to on the radio.

 

Ron breathed through his nose harshly, like a bull getting ready to stampede and then turned on his heel, his hand gripping his wand so hard Hermione was surprised it did not snap. “Are you coming, Draco?” she asked loudly, swaying where she stood.

 

“He’d better not be,” Ginny muttered as the boat came to a halt in the middle of the sea, miles from land.

 

Malfoy turned and followed Hermione down into the Captain’s cabin. “I’m sorry I ruined everything. It was silly of me not to go back to the villas and retrieve my potion.”

 

“You haven’t ruined anything, Granger. I’d rather be down here with you than with the rest of those idiots any day,” he patted the bed as he made his way to the cramped bathroom.

 

Hermione heeded his command and lay across the bedspread, willing her stomach to calm as he rifled through the cabinet in the bathroom. “Ah ha!” came his quiet exclamation, before he stepped into the room, the dim light pouring in from the bathroom, and wiggled a vial in front of her face.

 

She sat up and Malfoy put a gentle hand to her chest and pushed her back. “Don’t try to get up just yet,” he instructed, uncorking the vial.

 

He placed it to her lips and she parted them just enough to drink down the syrupy mint and ginger potion. The relief was nearly instantaneous, her stomach no longer rumbling, her mouth no longer putrid. Malfoy lay next to her, scooping her up and closer to himself. Hermione was replaying Ron’s questioning to herself and a sinking feeling landed in her belly. “Malfoy? What _are_ we going to do?”

 

He was silent for a moment and Hermione simply listened to his steady breaths—in and out, in and out. From her place on his chest, his voice sounded deeper when he spoke. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.”

 

“I’m leaving the thirteenth of August to return to Hogwarts. That’s less than two weeks—”

 

“I said I don’t want to think about it, goddammit,” he snapped before sighing and squeezing his arms around her.

 

Hermione understood his feelings, she did not _want_ to think of their impending separation. But her mind played over the possibilities for that day repeatedly. “Perhaps we can visit in Hogsmeade on weekends?” she asked hopefully.

 

“Granger. Please,” was his only response.

 

For the first time in their fresh relationship—is that what it was?—Hermione lay in Malfoy’s arms and tucked into his side to cuddle. But her mind was racing with the notion that he should be so elusive. Was Ron correct? Was she nothing more than a summer fling to him? As his hand began rubbing circles over her back, Hermione realized there was no way that was true. Draco Malfoy clearly cared for her, in his own way.

 

“Weasley was a feckless moron, as usual,” he commented, his hands playing over her curls as he nuzzled his nose into her hairline.

 

“He’s just upset,” she argued lightly, feeling his heart beating against her cheek.

 

“Really, because even Potter seems uncomfortable with his presence.”

 

Hadn’t she just been thinking the same thing? That the Weasleys had shattered the comfortable little world they had built in Cosrosa? She felt a wave of guilt course through her as she remembered their grief. Scenes from Fred’s funeral flashed behind her eyes and she had to clear her throat as she fought tears.

 

“What’s the matter?” Malfoy asked softly, pulling the blanket up and over them as the boat swayed slightly.

 

“I just thought of how morose they all were at Fred’s funeral. I feel like a terrible friend for not checking in on them sooner. Dating or not, Ron has been my best friend for nearly eight years. I should have contacted him—I just thought I was giving he and his family room to grieve in peace,” Hermione told him, all of the words rushing out quickly on a single breath.

 

“You are far from being a terrible friend, Hermione. You’re the only person who has shown me a genuine olive branch and a measure of trust since even before the War, save Blaise and Theo. And Weasley—he’s a daft imbecile. You do not owe him a shred of penance. He should feel lucky that he even has a friend like you in his life,” his deep tones soothed her aching heart.

 

Hermione twisted her face to kiss along his bare chest where it was exposed to her and pulled him closer to herself as she buried into his warmth. “Do you want to go back up, now?” she questioned, hoping he would refuse.

 

“Just a few more minutes alone. I just need a little while longer with you.”

 

o-o-o

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

 

Weasley’s words echoed through Draco’s mind all night. Even after they had docked back at the rosy shores and he had given Granger a lengthy good night kiss outside of her villa door, the blasted redhead’s words mocked him. _What will happen in a month when Hermione leaves to go back to Hogwarts?_ It was a question Draco had tried to ignore since realizing that he felt something for the prissy little witch. But suddenly, it was a glaring and very _real_ possibility that they would be split apart.

 

He knew that he had not used her for personal gain, had not attempted to be seen in the spotlight with her in hopes that they would make the front page of the paper. He genuinely enjoyed Granger’s presence, oddly enough and he mentally kicked himself every day for ever having been bigoted against her.

 

Draco sat at the table in his kitchenette, staring blankly at the Italian newspaper, having attempted to translate the same sentence at least a dozen times. It was no use—his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Granger. When had he started to enjoy her company so much that being without felt like torture? This was dangerous territory he was crossing into and it made his stomach clench in vice-like knots to consider what it meant.

 

There was a soft knock at the door and then it opened and soft footsteps fell over hardwood floors. Draco knew it was Granger—no one else would have let themselves in, but still, she hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey,” she murmured uncertainly.

 

Clearly, if her hesitance and soft-spoken demeanor were any indicators, she had stayed awake all evening thinking of their relationship as well. Draco looked over his shoulder to her and gave her a half-smile, the best he could muster in his insomnia-induced exhaustion. “Hey. I was just having a spot of breakfast if you’d like to join. Are you feeling any better back on land?”

 

Granger slowly made her way to the table and looked over his shoulder to see what he was eating, her hands soft on his bare skin. “Loads. Tangerines?” she questioned, sliding the bowl of fruit back and then slipping onto the table so that her legs were dangling next to where he sat.

 

“Hmm, my favorite fruit,” he quipped, trying to put a playful tone back into his voice.

 

Weasley had ruined everything by bringing up the future and Draco could tell it was not the same anymore. The banter was not coming easily, the carefree attitude they had shared was sobered by the presence of her still emotionally grieving ex. The Weasleys brought with them a touch of England, of the world they had left behind. The world they had been so valiantly ignoring for the last few weeks.

 

Granger ran her fingers through his hair, fluffing it in its damp state. One glance up at her told Draco that she was trying her best not to consider the inevitable. A small smirk crossed her lips as she quirked an eyebrow at him. “You look handsome like this.”

 

“Like what?” he asked, placing a hand on her smooth thigh as he popped a tangerine wedge into his mouth and tossed the newspaper away from him.

 

“Carefree. All that black makes you edgy and harsh. But when you’re bare and still fresh from the shower, you’re softer somehow,” she told him, smiling as she dropped her hand away from his hair to rest on the edge of the table next to her.

 

Draco rolled his eyes at her analysis of him and lifted a slice of tangerine to her lips. There was a mischievous flash in her eye as she bit into only half of it and a line of juice trickled down her chin. Draco watched the light orange rivulet run across her glowing skin and lifted his face to catch it before it went under her chin and toward her neck. As his tongue burned a searing trail to catch the juice, Granger tilted her head back and away to give him easier access. The sweetness of the fruit and the saltiness of the sea air that clung to her skin was like a drug to Draco.

 

His lips finally met hers and he rose from his chair to lean over her legs, one hand on the table next to her and the other pressed into her lower back, holding her upright. He used his leg to separate her knees so that he stood between them, his hand coming to glide up her thigh to play under the hem of her dress.

 

The dress Granger was wearing was a pale purple and had buttons running the length of the front. Draco had the urge to rip it wide open with a jerk of his hands, but instead slowly brought his fingers to the top button, questioning if this level of contact was still okay between them. A small moan at the back of her throat, which Draco swallowed, gave him the encouragement he needed to continue.

 

With the first five buttons undone, her bra-clad tits came into view. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he leaned behind her and retrieved a tangerine slice. He bit just the end off and then, in a long and sensual stroke, ran the end of it over her skin—from her neck, over her collarbones, down between her breasts and across the tops swells of each—so that a sweet slick was left behind in its wake. Her skin erupted in a flurry of gooseflesh and Draco smiled against it as he kissed her neck and finished unbuttoning down the front of her dress.

 

Granger’s hands fell behind her to press flat against the table as she leaned back, her chest arching upward and putting the glorious mounds of her tits at the perfect angle for him to lick and nip at. Draco’s mind began to clear instantly, the thoughts of them separating no longer plaguing him as he fought the urge to connect them even more closely. His lips skimmed along the lacy top of her bra, his mouth moving to suck at her taut nipple through the sheer fabric.

 

Granger thrust a hand into his hair and fisted it tight enough to cause ripples of pain in his scalp and he shivered at the pleasurable feel. Draco traced his tongue over the sticky sweet mess he had made on her bare skin. The sound at the back of his throat was closer to a purr than a growl as his knees grew weak at the taste of her. “Why don’t you just lie back, and I’ll make you come hard for me?” he whispered, gently easing her back so that she was lying atop the table.

 

Granger made a small moaning noise and arched her back, her dress falling completely open around her. Draco could feel his eyes beginning to hood with lust as he bit his lip and ran his hands over her bare skin, squeezing her tits and then hips harshly. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her until she could not walk, to drill her straight into the wooden table top.

 

The remaining tangerine juice glistened against her skin and he smirked as he dropped to his knees in front of her. Hooking his arms under her knees, he pulled her to the very edge of the table and put her legs over his shoulders. Draco glided his nose along her inner thighs, his soft breaths causing her to squirm before him. There was no Potter to stop them, they had committed to no plans for the day. “Let’s continue where we left off yesterday.”

 

It occurred to the blond as he kissed along her other thigh, that once he had fucked her, he would not be able to stop. Granger had nestled herself into every fiber of his being and being nestled within her would only solidify this gentle intertwining of their lives. His heart gave a subtle aching throb as his mind clouded further the closer his face got to her core. Draco ignored his heart—the infernal thing had never done him an ounce of good before—and pushed the serious thoughts from his brain. He gave himself over completely to his lust, willing the consequences to vanish from the realm of possibility.

 

His hands made quick work of her dress and bra, tossing them aside absently. Her knickers contrasted with her skin and he bit back a groan at the sight of her, slowly being bared to him, as he slid them languidly down her bronzed legs. “Fucking perfection,” he muttered, quickly jerking his swim shorts down his hips and kicking them away from himself.

 

“Not bad yourself,” she huffed a laugh, placing her hands on his shoulders.

 

“Granger--” Draco’s voice came out hoarse as her hands slipped around from scratching down his back to rest on his hips.

 

Her lips cut him off as she tugged him ever closer to herself, her hair cascading over her shoulders and down the curve of her breasts as she tried to close an imperceptible gap. He held himself upright with one hand against the table, the other hand’s fingers digging mercilessly into her sides. The soft flesh of her belly brushed against his cock, tickling every nerve in his body.

 

Draco’s mind went once more to their impending separation. He was not sure he could survive being away from her at this point. The feel of her hands grazing his bare skin, of her body pressing firmly against his—he tried desperately to imprint it into his memory. He would, no doubt, need these memories to keep him sane when she returned to Hogwarts. Every minute detail was important to him, sending his nerves and senses into overdrive as he fought to keep a clear enough mind to commit her every whimper, taste, scratch, soft curve to memory.

 

He pulled his lips from hers, dragging them down over her jaw to her neck. A particularly forceful bite elicited a moan from her, the sound of it causing him to smirk against her skin. “Do you know what you do to me?” he growled into her ear and he felt her back arch into him slightly.

 

Granger’s only response was an unintelligible utterance as she dug her nails into his flesh. He ground his hips against her, his cock pressing into her firmly. “Am I having the same effect on you, I wonder?” Draco asked, placing his mouth around the supple flesh where her neck swept into her shoulder.

 

As he sucked harshly, drawing the blood to the surface, he slid his hand between them, carefully running his fingers teasingly slowly over her abdomen, the soft flesh between the apex of her thighs. Putting his hand between her legs, he gently pried them apart. “Open up for me, kitten. Let me make you purr,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear and she opened a little wider.

 

When Draco first slipped a finger between her folds, he let out a rumbling groan of his own at the feel of how hot and wet she already was. His voice was pure velvet as he pulled away from his assault on her neck to look between them to where his fingers ran circles over her swollen clit. “Is this for me?” he asked, skimming his nose along her jaw. “Just from _kissing?”_

Merlin, this witch was going to drive him to ruin before he even had the chance to sheath himself within her. His fingers slid down and he dipped one long digit into her heat, his thumb replacing its earlier work. Granger’s hands slid up and into his hair, tugging his mouth away from where he was nibbling at her earlobe. As he brought a second finger to join the first, her eyes opened, and she trained her mahogany eyes on his, the gold smoldering like the embers of a fire. Her lips parted as she let out another sexy whine before pulling his face forcefully to her own.

 

Granger kissed just as she conducted innocent tasks—with raw, unbridled passion and an intense heat that nearly brought Draco’s world to ash. He wanted to spend every day of his life, kissing her just like this, being on the receiving end of her resplendent and fiery passion. Her mouth was hot as her tongue slid along his. He lifted himself away from her and ran his hand over her sticky frame, the tangerine juice still playing over her bare form. His other hand increased in its ministrations as her nails dig into him, her legs beginning to shake.

 

But Draco was not one to give in so easily—it wasn’t in his nature to acquiesce so readily. Just when he thought she was getting close to an orgasm—if her quaking legs and the pants falling from her lips were any indicator—he pulled away. She let out a simpering whine of protest, lifting her head from the table top to look at him once more. “Please don’t stop there,” she nearly begged, and Draco smirked.

 

He had Granger right where he wanted her. He brought his fingers to his lips and laved at the sweet juices that had gathered there. He could nearly watch her pupils dilate further as a blush crept up her chest at the sight of him tasting her and the smile he gave her was positively wicked, he knew.

 

He raised one eyebrow at her as he lowered to his knees in front of her. Draco lifted her leg up and propped her foot on the seat of a chair next to him before crouching before her. “No…I…”

 

Granger attempted to bring her legs together and stand upright. Draco looked up at her and pushed her thighs apart, holding her leg still so she couldn’t bring it down. “Do you trust me at all?” he asked, hoping for a positive answer.

 

She put her back against the table once more and tapped her head against it once before looking up at him. “I do. It’s just—”

 

“Don’t get prudish on me now, love. Not after I’ve had a taste,” he told her, replacing her foot to its rightful place on the chair. “Just close your eyes and enjoy this.”

 

She did as instructed and put her head back against the wood and Draco rolled his eyes at her acquiescence. He ran his hands down over her thighs as he took in the resplendent sight of her pussy, laid bare in all of its glory, right before his eyes. It was already dripping from his earlier efforts and he licked his lips in eager anticipation. He kissed down the inside of one thigh and then the other, pausing only to give a gentle nip or suck as he continued his torturous path “We’ll finish what we started yesterday,” he confirmed.

 

Growing agitated with his own teasing, he leaned forward and gave the soft mound of flesh just above the slit a kiss before he brought his mouth lower. He ran his tongue down the length of her, from hood to arse, pausing to dip briefly into her before making his way back up. _“Holy fuck,”_ Granger breathed above him, moving her hands from the edge of the table to his shoulders.

 

She lifted her head to look down at him and he repeated his actions once more. She tasted both sweet and salty from her earlier near-orgasm and he couldn’t get enough. The taste was making him heady and he felt his cock give an aching throb as he brought his lips around the sensitive swell of her clit, a gentle suck earning him a louder moan. Her hand threaded into his hair, pressing him harder to herself and she brought her leg to drape over his shoulder, her heel pulling his shoulders closer, craving _more_.

 

As Draco alternated between sucking, licking, and laving, Granger keened before him. He looked up for a moment, giving one particularly slow and torturous swipe of his tongue. He dipped his fingers into her once more, stretching her walls and relishing the tight feel of her as he curved it up toward her navel. From this angle, he had the perfect view of her pert tits heaving with every ragged breath she drew in, her eyes scrunched and her teeth worrying her plump bottom lip as her fingernails raked through his damp locks.

 

“Quit teasing, Draco,” she finally said, her legs trembling as she pressed back into the wood.

 

He slid his other hand up the back of her thigh to cup her supple arse cheek, assisting in holding her still as she let out a chain of curses under her breath and a series of panting moans. As her orgasm hit, Granger rocked her hips into his mouth, both craving the pressure of his tongue and flinching away as she grew ever more sensitive. Once he was sure the waves were done, he withdrew from her, skimming his nose and lips up her thigh as he brought her leg down.

 

Draco stood swiftly, immediately bringing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, sharing the taste of her with her eagerly waiting mouth. At the contact, Granger suckled at his top lip, nipping before she pulled away to kiss along his jaw. He gave a lusty grunt and grabbed her jaw in his hands lightly, pulling her to look him in the eye. “I want you, Granger. I want to fuck you until you can’t stand. You are _mine_ ,” he growled, his fingertips pressing into the skin of her jaw before he captured her lips once more.

 

Granger reached between them, grasping his cock firmly in her fist, her hand gliding along his length. The blond stepped into her touch, running his hands down her sides and under her arse once more, lifting her hips easily off of the tabletop. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she ran his head along her twice, gathering some of the slickness before she pressed him to her entrance. She pivoted her hips upward as he thrust downward, both groaning at the feel of their connection.

 

Her back was against the table, her face a few inches from his. He leaned one hand against the wood to brace them and used the other to grasp her arse, pushing and pulling in time to match his thrusts. His chest held her steadfastly in place, the swells of her breasts gathering tiny droplets of sweat from the Cosrosa heat blowing in through his windows. Granger slid back and forth against the polished wood top repeatedly with his movements. When her hips began rolling of their own accord, he clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes closing momentarily at the sensations.

 

As his thrusts increased in tempo, Granger wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling his head toward her. She tilted her head to the side to give him easier access to her already love-bitten neck. Draco’s breaths were shallow now, his self-control becoming harder to cling to as he did. After a couple of hot open-mouthed kisses to her neck, he put his forehead against her shoulder. “Does this feel good?” he purred into her ear, his voice more strained than he would have liked.

 

He felt her nod dumbly next to him. He lifted his forehead. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

 

The little minx didn’t speak, only tightened the grip of her legs around him. Draco bit down forcefully on her shoulder. _“Say it.”_

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders once more, carving scratches into his pale flesh and her breaths were rapid as her chest heaved with the force of them. “ _Oh, fuck, Draco. Fuck. I’m yours.”_

And with that simple declaration, her hot walls clenched around him as her entire body shook lightly, a soft, _“Oooh,”_ falling from her lips. The force of her orgasm, the tight pulsing of her pussy around him drove him toward his own release and he gave a few more sharp thrusts downward until he felt his cock pulse and throb. He pulled her to meet his hips twice more, each swipe milking him further until he’d released every last drop.

 

A shiver ran through him as he opened his eyes to find Granger staring at him, a look of fascinated awe on her features. She ran her fingertips along his jawline, pulling his face gently down to place a sweet kiss to his lips. He used both hands to carefully set her legs to dangle over the table’s edge once more and she let out a gentle laugh as she put her hand over her eyes and heaved a deep breath. _Fuck. This witch was amazing._

o-o-o

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

 

After two days of dealing with Ron’s petulant attitude—completely uncalled for as _he_ was the one who broke things off, not she—Hermione had had enough. She spent even more time with the Draco, holed up in his bed while he worshipped every inch of her. They went to dinner with the others, a tense affair as Harry and Ginny were pretending they had never been in a relationship and being exaggeratedly kind to one another. Blaise had taken a liking to the fiery little redhead, much to her brother’s chagrin. Ron pouted at the table, glaring at the Slytherins at every turn. Hermione knew that she needed to speak with him, to let him know that his attitude was unnecessary and hurtful and to try and salvage what friendship they still retained.

 

On the third morning after the Weasleys had arrived in Cosrosa, Hermione awoke in Malfoy’s bed. There was warm air blowing in through his open French doors and when she opened her eyes, she saw him sitting behind an easel, facing her. She moved to sit up and he put a hand up. “Not yet, put your arm back under the pillow.”

 

She smirked and buried her face in the pillow for a moment before looking back at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of painting such a boring muse?”

 

“There’s only so many beach scenes one man can paint. And I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to remind you that you are anything but boring,” he retorted primly, bringing his brush to the canvas once more.

 

“Do you think we should brave the redheaded fire today?” she questioned, her heart growing heavy.

 

Malfoy sighed and stood from his perch by the doors. He sauntered over to where she still lay, cocooned in his puffy bedding and pulled the blanket up to look at her naked frame. Running an appreciative hand up over her thigh, he hummed slightly. “I can think of fifty other activities we could do instead.”

 

“What makes you think I want to stay here all day, _with you?”_ she challenged.

 

His hand ran up over her exposed arse and he pet it for a moment before lifting his hand and giving her a stinging smack. “Minx.”

 

She rolled over, rolling herself further into his blankets, giving him a simpering smile as he climbed over her and began peppering kisses down her throat. Before he could get carried away once more, she put a firm hand to his chest. “Draco. I should probably talk to him.”

 

“Why?” he asked, and Hermione chose to ignore the whining tone of his voice.

 

“Because he’s been my best friend since I was twelve.”

 

Malfoy groaned and backed off of her to sit on the edge of the bed. His mood had soured as she mentioned their youth, but she needed him to understand that it was important to her that her friendship with Ron was repaired. “We’ve been through so much, Harry, Ron, and I. For the entire last year, we were all each other had and when Ron left Harry and I…I felt something. Something painful snap inside of me. I want to avoid that if at all possible.”

 

“He’s acting like a child because you aren’t sitting around depressed that he broke up with you. He honestly wanted you to be here, miserable because he wasn’t here with you because he stupidly decided to let you go,” Malfoy argued.

 

Hermione sat up, his foul mood making her exceedingly uncomfortable. It seemed as though every man in her life was going to act like a jealous, petulant child. “I’ll be back soon enough, and, maybe when I get back, we could go to the waterfall again?”

 

She gave him a weak smile, trying to tame his growing irritation. He lay back in his bed. “Well, hurry along, then. The sooner you go and stroke that arsehole’s ego, the sooner you can get back to fucking me.”

 

“You have such a way with words, Malfoy,” she told him, unwrapping his blanket from around herself with a grin.

 

After dressing, she kissed him on the cheek and made her way into the bright morning sunlight. The redheaded wizard in question was walking alone on the beach ahead of her, having left Harry’s villa. Hermione did not look forward to speaking with him but knew it needed to be done. So, she gathered her courage and jogged until she caught up with him. “Hey,” she said by way of greeting, putting an arm around his waist from the side.

 

Ron looked around them, seemingly for her blond counterpart and sighed in relief when he noticed she was alone. “Hey.”

 

“I thought maybe we should talk,” Hermione told him, stopping them from walking as she placed a hand on his arm.

 

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” he shrugged, his features barely masking his internal agony at the thought of her being with Draco Malfoy.

 

“Ron, stop acting like such a child and talk to me,” she implored bossily.

 

He glared at her and plopped to the ground, sand fluttering out from underneath of him. “Hermione, I came to Cosrosa to celebrate Harry’s birthday, with the hopes that perhaps I could escape for a little while. But when Ginny and I got here, Harry and Luna are together and you’re…with that _greasy little ferret_.”

 

She sat next to him, folding her skirt neatly around her legs as she fought to find words to explain. Hermione couldn’t even explain her strange attraction to the ex-Death Eater, except that she knew he was different than she had always believed. “I know it’s unconventional—”

 

“Unconventional? You were tortured in his _house,_ by his _family_. Or did you forget that?” Ron asked forcefully.

 

“How could I forget?” she countered. “I was the one who endured the Cruciatus Curse for hours.”

 

Ron winced at her words and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I just…why _him?”_

 

“Do you mean, ‘why not you?’” she argued, staring out over the turquoise waters.

 

He adjusted on his haunches and swept a hand through the sand beside him. Remaining silent, he squinted in the sunlight to watch a group of friends splashing in the water. Hermione pursed her lips at his silence and grit her teeth. “You have a lot of gall, Ronald Weasley. Draco is right—you expected me to be down here, mourning the loss of a relationship that never had time to take off!”

 

At her bitter tone, Ron looked up at her. “No, Hermione, I expected you to be here, _mourning._ We just came through a war. People—our friends, my family—died in that War. And that fucking _Death Eater_ was against us until it benefited him not to be. It was the likes of him that got my brother killed.”

 

“You think it was that simple? That he could just go against his family, against Voldemort?” she asked him. “You ran away in search of your family. He stayed in a virtual hell so his family wouldn’t die.”

 

“How can you believe those lies? I thought you were the smart one in the group,” he commented, his tone still bitter.

 

“He’s not lying. And I’ve had more _fun_ with Malfoy in the last month than I’ve had in ten years!” she yelled indignantly.

 

“He’s using you to gain traction on his status! He needs redemption.”

 

“We’ve been seen together mostly on the Muggle side of the island. Never, not one time has he tried to be seen in public with me in order to _gain traction._ He knows I am going back to Hogwarts and he isn’t. So, our time is limited to this island,” Hermione was shouting, but the words she was so eloquently screeching sliced her as she knew she spoke the truth.

 

“So, he’s an idiot on top of everything else! He’s just going to give you up!”

 

“You mean like you did?” she countered, feeling acid in her veins.

 

Ron’s wounded look pierced her heart and he eyed her with thinly veiled hurt. “I thought we needed space because we had just come through something traumatic and we haven’t had a chance to live in a world without Voldemort yet.”

 

“You’re angry because I found someone else!” she accused.

 

“You’re damn right! We played footsy for seven years and you so readily agreed to give it a break. And then you come down here and you’re out gallivanting with a _murderer_!”

 

Hermione looked at him, feeling her anger being replaced with overwhelming, despondent sadness. Ron, his face scarlet in his anger, steeled his features, though a tear ran down his cheek. He wiped it away fiercely and looked at her. “Mum had to spend a week in St. Mungo’s last month. The Healers said it was a stress-induced heart attack.”

 

Her eyes grew wide and guilt ate away at her. She had not even bothered to write Ron since her arrival on the island, giving him space and his family time to heal. “I didn’t know.”

 

“No. I know,” he admitted, angling so that he was facing her. “It’s been terrible since Fred died. She rarely left their room. Ginny had to make the meals because she couldn’t bear to. She’d see sausages and cry about how it was his favorite breakfast. Seeing George made her break down so badly that he went to stay in the flat over the joke shop. Our family trip to see Charlie was a complete bust.”

 

Her anger for him dissipated as she saw the anguished pain written all over his face. The Weasleys—the strongest familial bond she had ever encountered—had begun to fall apart. Hermione felt her own eyes sting as she scooped him into her arms tightly. “I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

 

“I can’t depend on you and Harry for everything in my life, Hermione,” Ron told her, hugging her back. “I’ve just missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too, Ron,” she told him, and it felt truthful as she said it.

 

She had thought of the Weasleys often, of the War and England. But Malfoy had made such a pleasant distraction that the harsh reminder took her breath away. How would she live with herself when she hadn’t been there when her surrogate mother had needed devoted attention. “I stand by what I said at the beginning of summer,” Ron told her. “I think we need time to navigate a post-war world apart.”

 

Hermione nearly sighed a breath of relief. She loved Ron, as a friend and his family meant the world to her. But being away from him, she realized just how dependent she had been on both he and Harry. Though Harry was here on the island as well, they spent so much time apart that she got to truly experience independence in the form of Draco Malfoy.

 

“I won’t apologize for what Draco and I have done,” she told him, conviction ringing clear between them.

 

“Fucking arsehole,” Ron muttered, shaking his head slowly.

 

“He’s not that bad,” Hermione replied. “He’s actually incredibly sweet.”

 

“Yes, well. At least there are only a few more weeks to have to endure this,” he shuddered. “Then you’ll be back at Hogwarts and he’ll be back skulking in whatever hell he crawled out of.”

 

“Ron,” Hermione’s voice was a warning, though she laughed.

 

o-o-o

 

Draco stared from the porch of his villa at the two friends cozying up in the sand. That fucking redheaded ape had his arms around who Draco had clearly claimed as _his_ witch. And she was laughing jovially and ruffling his hair right back. _Well, isn’t this a lovely sight? A romance rekindled._ He could not help but feel his heart begin to shatter.

 

He had laid himself out for this witch—having talked with her about the War—something he had not done with anyone else. And now she was back to hanging all over fucking Weasley? Had they not had a deliriously good time the last month? Perhaps that was the problem—he had been delirious the whole time. Had there been signs that Hermione was still in love with Ron Weasley? Had he missed something?

 

Draco thought back over every minute he had shared with the beautiful witch. They had scarce spoke of England or the Weasleys, save the few times they spoke of the War for however brief a moment. Perhaps she still spoke of him, still wept openly to Potter, mourning the loss of her true love. The thought made Draco’s stomach flop unpleasantly and a bitter, metallic taste settle on his tongue. He prided himself on being relatively intelligent, but he had been wrong about the nature of her friendship with Potter. Maybe he was simply blind to her affections for Weasley.

 

White hot anger seared through Draco and he turned to go back inside. He stomped the entire way up to his suite, kicking a hole into the wall at the landing of the stairs. “Fucking _marmalade skies_.”

 

His door swung open and Draco stampeded through the rooms. The canvas of the painting he had been working on that morning was still sitting on the easel, nearly finished. It was a gorgeous rendition of Hermione, her back bare and the swells of her breasts hidden beneath her. Her hair had tumbled around her wildly and he had captured it perfectly. The sight of the painting angered him further and he took a firm hand and swatted the canvas from the easel. It flew across the room and smacked the wall, leaving a smear of still-wet paint.

 

Next, he lifted the cup of water he had used to dip his brushes into and tossed it against the wall, having a full rage-induced tantrum. Draco swung around and sat on the edge of his bed, breathing harshly. Hermione’s scent clung to the bedding around him and he punched it next to him harshly. He growled and let out a growl of rage as he dropped his head into his hands.

 

In a fucking month, he had fallen too hard and too fast for someone who was too far out of his league. There was the sound of soft footsteps and when he looked up, Hermione was standing in his doorway. She looked around the room uncertainly—the broken canvas and smeared paint, the broken glass and colorful water spilling down over the walls, brushes scattered all over the floor. “What happened in here?”

 

“What the fuck do you care?” he hissed scathingly.

 

She recoiled slightly and hurt flashed across her face. “I care because—”

 

He held a hand up and silenced her. “I saw you, fawning all over that gangly idiot. Clearly, there is still a relationship there.”

 

“Are you kidding me? I told Ron I wouldn’t apologize for us—”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You took up for me so much that you wouldn’t _apologize_ for me.”

 

“Malfoy—Draco. You aren’t listening to me,” she tried, but Draco was on fire.

 

“You left here to talk to him and ended up practically snogging on the beach. I’m not blind, Granger. I knew it was never going to work for us.”

 

“Snogging? I gave a friend a hug!”

 

“Looked a little _friendlier_ than that!” he sneered, crossing his arms.

 

“You’re reading too far into things!” she told him.

 

“I’m reading too far into things? You seduced me and used me. Like some kind of cheap slag!” his voice boomed and it was the final nail in the proverbial coffin Draco had been building.

 

“So, now I’m a slag?” she questioned quietly, wiping her face.

 

Draco refused to allow her tears to pull him back to her. He had given her his fragile heart and she had betrayed him. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him he was being irrational. But then the image of she and Weasley in an embrace came forward and he swallowed down the pity and rationality he was beginning to feel.

 

“What about this whole summer?” Hermione asked, her voice cracking.

 

“ _You_ were my summer, Granger. The only bright spot amidst the darkness. But summer is over now. Just leave. Go back to Hogwarts even earlier and help McGonagall rebuild it like the apt little pupil you are. I will go back to my self-deprecation and general loathing of other human beings,” he told her, opening his front door and gesturing for her to leave.

 

His dismissal of her seemed to infuriate her even more and she pulled her wand on him as she made her way into the hall. “I should hex your mouth shut!”

 

Draco slammed the door in her face and jammed his fist into it. He did not understand how something so shaky, so improbable and so destined for failure could make him hurt so fucking much.

 

o-o-o 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

 

After their argument, she had sent a letter to McGonagall straight away, offering her services even earlier than originally anticipated. Once she had received a grateful reply, she had left the next morning. She had not spoken to Malfoy once in the time between their heated misunderstanding and her departure from the island. She had attempted to—she stood outside of his door for nearly an hour, waiting for him to turn in for the evening. But he never returned. She had a niggling feeling at the back of her mind that he was out with another witch.

 

Hermione knew he had not meant what he said, that he was lashing out in jealousy and insecurity. More than once, she had sat down and penned a letter to him, wanting to properly explain her feelings and the hurt he had caused her. She deserved an apology from him, but more importantly, she wanted to finally put into words all of the emotions and feelings she had built up in their short time together. She wanted him to know that she craved his company, that her heart broke a little more with every moment that passed while they were separated.

 

Hermione sat with Hogwarts’ new Headmistress at end of the former Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. They had devised four new Houses for Hogwarts, feeling that the Slytherins would be ostracized. Hermione had wanted to honor some of the fallen heroes of the War in naming the Houses, but McGonagall had been quick to point out that those whose loved ones weren’t honored would be upset by this. Instead, they had portraits of everyone hung in the corridors. The new Houses had named them after strong and resilient creatures.

 

The pair sat together at the table and mapped out the personality traits for each of the new houses. Hermione felt excited to be back in her element, planning and organizing meticulously. She had missed her mentor fiercely, and the dichotomy of strict and companionable that McGonagall displayed worked to quell her nerves. “Occamys—they’re fiercely loyal and protective of their eggs. Loyalty and protectiveness. Authenticity of character,” Hermione reasoned.

 

“Hippogriffs. Courage. Honesty and integrity. Truthfulness and strength of moral character,” McGonagall told her, her quill scribbling fiercely next to them as she sipped warm tea.

 

“Dragons—should we select a specific breed?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing as she thought of the Hungarian Horntail Harry had once battled.

 

Thinking of dragons briefly brought thoughts of the man whose namesake was a dragon constellation. The image of an ocean full of lights and a sky full of stars came to her mind. A gorgeous head of white-blond hair illuminated cobalt in the light of the sea fairies. A handsome smile and deep, melodic laugh. The feel of smooth hands running over the curve of her hip, his lips behind her ear as he whispered to her. She swallowed thickly, willing herself not to think of him.

 

The Headmistress’ lips pursed tightly and then she shook her head. “Just dragons. Perseverance, fairness, and justice. Perceptive.”

 

“And the fourth? Unicorns?”

 

McGonagall thought about it for a moment. “Generous and compassionate. Forgiving and humble. Sympathetic and conscientious.”

 

“So, we’re all going to be resorted, then? At the start of the term?” Hermione asked her, wondering silently what new House she would be resorted into.

 

“That is the plan. There will be a zero-tolerance policy on any bullying or former house rivalries. The first sign of it and the student will be expelled. I would like your help drafting a letter to parents explaining the new school policies and houses,” McGonagall said, retrieving a new piece of parchment.

 

“These changes are all to promote unity throughout the school, aren’t they? Perhaps, after we’ve had the chance to redecorate the living quarters, we could invite the parents?” Hermione questioned.

 

The professors had spent the last few months restoring the majority of the castle, repairing the blasted and crumbling walls. For this, Hermione was grateful, because she did not think she could easily navigate through a damaged and bruised castle. It was painful enough for her, the first day she came back and saw the spot where Fred had fallen. She had heard the screams echoing and reverberating through her brain, of the girls affected by Voldemort’s chilling messages. As she sat next to the Headmistress, her eyes began to glaze over and she could see Tonks and Remus, side by side against the far wall.

 

The curly-haired witch shook her head, clearing it of negative thoughts and putting on a brave face. Now was not the time for emotions. “Instead of having long tables and isolating the houses from one another, why don’t we put a series of roundtables in here? People could sit with whomever they wanted. House unity would begin in the respective Common Rooms, but school unity could take place around the table.”

 

Hermione hoped that the Headmistress would agree to her request. Knowing that the returning students were facing a resorting, she had her doubts as to whether she would be placed with Harry once more. Crippling loneliness ate at her heart painfully as she thought about the distance that had begun growing between herself and her oldest friends. But perhaps, they could still spend time together—Luna, too—and cultivate a friendship in the new, post-War Hogwarts.

 

“Maybe you’re right. Professor Herald, the new Muggle Studies teacher, has brought up the idea of offering group therapy,” McGonagall told her. “I think maybe it would help if we could have the parents attend as well? Perhaps once a month?”

 

“You want a stronger parental presence in the school?” Hermione questioned.

 

Her parents had been at the primary school she had attended around every turn, filming her with her father’s gigantic camcorder and cheering her on. When she had gotten into Hogwarts, it never even occurred to her, as _Hogwarts, A History_ had taught her that Muggles could not see the castle. Would that change? The Headmistress seemed to read her mind. “We need something to reassure parents that their children are safe here. I can only imagine what the Muggle-borns’ parents are thinking about the events of the last year here.”

 

Hermione nodded her agreeance and the two of them rose. “Are we going to reuse the dorms we’ve already got?”

 

“I believe the dungeons may not be the best place for students anymore,” the elder witch mentioned. “For those non-former Slytherins, the area may make them uncomfortable. There is another tower on the west side of the castle—it used to be the teacher’s dorms until the mid-fifties when we all moved to the first floor. It’s going to require some restoration.”

 

“Can we go have a look? The other three dorms need renovating as well,” Hermione pointed out.

 

They made their way up to the turret on the fourth floor. They discussed the need to find proper paintings and tapestries to hang on the wall, as the founders were no longer appropriate in the Commons areas. “If we use the colors of the creatures that represent the houses, we could easily redecorate and make it all fresh.”

 

“There has been enough sorrows and bigotry and hatred within these walls for centuries. It needs to end now. We all fought this War to ensure it did not continue,” McGonagall told her, tapping her wand in an intricate pattern behind a tapestry of a loony mermaid.

 

“Do you think people will revolt? Stick to their old mindsets?” Hermione asked, gnawing at her bottom lip nervously.

 

“Likely. But I think everyone can agree that a significant change is needed and this is where we will begin—by reshaping the young minds that will one day oversee our world.”

 

The door cracked open to reveal a large Common Room. Everything was covered with yellowed sheets, a layer of dust an inch thick coating every surface. The room was rounded, with a huge circular picture window, allowing copious amounts of natural light in. Dust motes floated as they moved within, settling over leather-bound books that had not been opened in nearly a half century. Hermione lifted one from the shelf, an old tome written in Italian and the pages cracked open crisply.

 

It reminded Hermione of the day she and Draco had gone to the Italian library. He had read _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and lamented about the ridiculous whimsies of Muggle writers. His confusion had been adorable and funny and the memory tore at her. She snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. “The house elves would be happy to help you redecorate the dorms, Miss Granger. The other professors and I have more restorations in the library to complete before the school year begins.”

 

“Headmistress, forgive me, but I don’t understand why exactly you asked for my help specifically.”

 

The witch gave her a wry smile. “Because you know more about this castle and its history than anyone else. You have a flair for learning and a passion for taking on projects that no one else deems important or necessary. The other Professors do not agree with my ideas for creating unity. Tradition rules their hearts and minds and they think we should just strengthen the ties we already have bound.”

 

“I agree with you,” Hermione told her.

 

“I knew you would. And _that_ is why I asked you here.”

 

With that, McGonagall turned to leave. “Begin when you are ready. The elves have enough gold to buy anything you may need. I’m glad to have you along.”

 

She left Hermione alone for the first time in nearly two days and the younger witch leaned against an old wooden desk. Glancing around, she took in every nook of the room. A pale, blond-haired wizard invaded her thoughts once more, as he did at nearly every turn. As she looked out of the large window, all of the natural light pouring over her golden skin, his hands haunted her, gentle and precise as he flicked a brush against canvas.

 

The long couch to one side reminded her of the couch in his villa, where he had languidly draped himself after their first time having sex and read while she made a breakfast heartier than toast and tangerines. They had not fallen in love within the castle, but there was not a room within that didn’t remind her of him in some way. She wondered if his haunting presence in her mind would drive her to madness within these walls before the school year even began.

 

Every time she had written out a letter to him, Hermione had burned it in the end. They all sounded whiny, desperate. Hermione had no idea of Draco’s feelings for her. If the body encompassing depression she was feeling was mirrored in him in any way. How could she feel so despondently over a man she had truly only known for such a short time? The idea of it was entirely too whimsical for her logical brain. She cursed her heart nearly hourly, that it should betray her in such a manner.

 

If she were honest, Hermione could admit her unwavering and undeniable attraction was so strong because who Draco Malfoy was now, was not who he had always been. Perhaps this man had lurked beneath the hardened, bigoted surface as a child, but she had never been close enough to see it. The witch lamented the time they had wasted, hating one another fiercely.

 

As Hermione made her way out of the castle, her mind clouded with the memory of Malfoy, she wondered what life could have been like if they had not been separated by War, learned bigotry and sparring friends. She crossed the grounds in a slow amble, not really having a particular destination in mind. Removing her sandals, she relished the feel of the soft blades of grass under her feet. It had rained when she first arrived, a stark contrast to the sunny and cheery days she had spent on the Italian island. But the weather was uncharacteristically beautiful today and she breathed in the fresh air.

 

The Quidditch Pitch loomed ahead, repaired earlier in the summer and she made her way toward them. Harry would be returning for the school year—Kingsley had strongly encouraged it—and Hermione wondered if he would try out for the team once more. But which team? Hermione climbed the Slytherin stands and sat primly directly in the middle of them, envisioning two teams, made up of an amalgamation of new players—former rivals even.

 

Would she be separated from Harry for the first year at Hogwarts? Would they grow apart as she and Ron had? Hermione lifted her face toward the sky, closing her eyes. She had felt that her independence from her two best friends had strengthened in her time on the island, though the thought that perhaps she was growing too dependent on Malfoy in their absence had crossed her mind.

 

Would this be the year that Hermione could finally be her own person? Harry was still her best friend, but would he cultivate his relationship with Luna further and spend time making new friends? Without vicious Dark Lords to defeat, she could put all of her efforts into creature welfare. She would be able to study, unencumbered, in the library for hours on end. Her biggest worry would be her NEWTs.

 

Hermione looked out over the Pitch once more, envisioning students in robes of violet and turquoise instead of scarlet and emerald. Excitement welled within her at the changes she and McGonagall had made to the fortress and the school codes. But as she watched the grass sway delicately in the breeze, a hollow emptiness met her heart.

 

Loneliness overtook her, swiftly and harshly. She would return to the castle, a War heroine, a novelty, an outcast even as she was placed on a pedestal she did not deserve. Harry would be even more relished and boasted upon, but he would have Luna to turn to when the days grew long, and the attention grew wearisome.

 

Hermione would have no one to share her excitement with. Her friendship with Ginny was technically intact, but the redhead would likely cling to her own group of friends. She would lament the loss of her brother and find herself a beau in no time at all, her clique and her Quidditch taking precedence over all else.

 

As the breeze blew her curls about her face, Hermione rose to leave the pitch. She wished, once more, that she was brave enough to send a letter to Malfoy. To beg him to meet her in Hogsmeade, to hash out the insecurities and misunderstandings that had ruined a decent, if brief, relationship. But the witch was stubborn, and _he_ had been in the wrong, to begin with. If they were to rekindle their relationship or even some semblance of a friendship, it would be his responsibility to reach out to her first.

 

Her feet, of their own accord, brought her down the dirt path toward Hagrid’s newly rebuilt hut. The gamekeeper was outside and appeared to be planting a fresh row of pumpkins. His giant, hulking form loomed over the freshly tilled earth and he stood to straighten his back. Hermione heard it crack from where she stood. Upon seeing her, Hagrid’s face lit up and he smiled wide. “’Ermione! I was wonderin’ when you’d be pas’ to see me!”

 

She returned his warm smile as she gave him a tight hug. The half-giant lifted her off the ground, causing her to squeal in delight. “Hello, Hagrid! Professor McGonagall has kept me pretty busy these last few days, but I thought I’d come to see you. Planting this years’ pumpkin crop already?”

 

Hagrid let out a sigh and gestured to the rows. “Yeah, got to get ‘em in the soil ‘fore school starts. Pomona gave me some special fertilizer. Promisin’ to be the bigges’ crop yet. But enough o’ that. Let’s go in an’ I’ll make us some biscuits and tea.”

 

Not remotely in the mood for muddy tea and rock-hard biscuits, Hermione shook her head. “No, that’s alright. I’ve just had lunch. Why don’t I help you plant these seeds? It would go much faster with the two of us.”

 

Hagrid, who looked as though he had been tilling the earth by hand for far too long in the summer sun, acquiesced easily enough. “Well,” he began, handing her a spade, “did yer have fun in Cos-Cos, ah, whatever it’s called?”

 

“Cosrosa. And yes—it was beautiful! All turquoise waters and pink sands. Oh, and there are these sea fairies that lit up at night and the locals call it the Sea of Stars. I wish I would have thought to capture a few in a jar for you! Harry is still there, perhaps I could write to him, and he could get a few for you—”

 

“Breath, ‘Ermione!” Hagrid laughed at the quickness of her speech.

 

It was natural, her friendship with the gamekeeper. But he was not the quickest on the uptake at times and for that she was thankful. Her nerves were getting the best of her as she thought of the Italian paradise. Hermione swallowed down the memories once more. “But enough about me, how have you been? Where’s Fang?” she asked, noting that his large companion was nowhere to be found.

 

Hagrid’s features darkened, and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “Ah, he was an old feller anyway. Had to be put down about a month ago.”

 

Hermione reached over and touched his arm as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket the size of a newspaper and blew his nose noisily. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

The half-giant shrugged his large shoulders and bent over to plant a handful of pumpkin seeds into the too-large hole he had dug.

 

Hermione felt terrible once more, as she realized she had avoided everyone she cared about for far too long. First, the Weasleys—and Molly had suffered a heart attack, now Hagrid—who had suffered a loss of his own outside of the War. She wondered to herself how long she would be willing to avoid the one person she had grown to care so much for in the last couple of months. The one individual who had made her feel more alive in a few short weeks than she had felt in nearly a decade.

 

o-o-o 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

 

Draco lay in his bed at Malfoy Manor for the fourth day in a row. He was in no mood for company of any kind. He had not showered since his return home and his face was scratchy under the days-old growth. The elves had kept delivering food, vanishing it all at the end of each day. It was as if the last couple of months away from the Manor had never taken place and he was right back to his dedicated position from before Cosrosa.

 

The dark depression had overtaken him, though it was far fiercer than when he had departed the Manor in June. The warm light falling through his window was aggravating the shit out of him and he waved his wand to draw his black curtains shut. Facing the emerald wall, as was his usual stance these days, he stared blankly. Unseeing, uncaring. But not unfeeling. No, everything within him ached. His body, his mind, and most importantly his heart.

 

Hermione Granger had forced her way under his skin, damn her. All he could smell was her sweet scent encompassing him completely, all cocoa and shea and sunshine. The tickling of her curls as they brushed his nose, softer than he could have ever imagined such a head of hair would be. The feel of her body tight around his, both in an embrace and when they were joined as lovers. The memories tormented him to no end. Even a dreamless draught had not been enough for him—he had lain awake nearly every moment for days now.

 

Draco relived the times he spent with Granger—frolicking in a maze of sunflowers, riding the Ferris wheel up and eating candy floss as they watched the sunset within tangerine skies, shagging on every surface of his villa for the last few days they had spent together. He craved an argument with her, even if it were something as simple as elf rights or whimsical Muggle authors. If he thought on it hard enough, he could taste the sea on her lips, feel her nails scratch down his torso.

 

He had really fucked things up royally with the sassy witch. He had insulted her, called her a slag. The furthest thing from the truth. Draco had been so sure that Granger was rekindling something with Weasley. What a fucking fool he was. He had refused to hear her side, refused to acknowledge her existence. He had left that night, come back to the Manor to resume his pre-Italy pity party.

 

Draco thought of sending a letter, perhaps a bouquet of “sorry I’m a cunt” flowers. But he had never been eloquent when expressing his feelings or when offering apologies. He generally ignored feelings as a rule. A mistake that may have ruined everything he had carefully crafted with Granger. The thought of his insecurities-so strong that they blinded him--caused a groan to escape his lips and he tucked his head under his pillow.

 

There was a knock at his door and before he could tell whoever it was to kindly fuck off, his mother opened and walked in. “Draco Lucius. Enough. Enough of this. Blaise and Theodore are waiting for you downstairs.”

 

“Actually, we’re not, mum,” Theo’s booming voice broke through his stale bedroom.

 

“This is a familiar, pathetic sight,” Blaise wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t this exactly as you were before Cosrosa—skulking and whining? Ever the brooding victim?”

 

“Fuck off, Zabini,” Draco growled, throwing one of his pillows at the Italian.

 

“Draco! Language,” his mother hissed, scandalized.

 

“Why are you arseholes here?” he ignored his mother, sitting up and looking at the two wizards.

 

“Because, you are pathetic, and we’re here to convince you to go after what will ultimately make you happy—what’s _been_ making you happy,” Theo reasoned, grabbing a snitch from one of Draco’s shelves and setting it to flutter about the room.

 

“What is he talking about?” his mother questioned, narrowing her eyes. “Is there a witch?”

 

“Thanks a lot, Theodore. Now it’s going to be an inquisition,” Draco spat, tossing his covers off and sitting upright.

 

He scrubbed a hand over his face and his mother crossed her arms, tapping the pointed toe of one pump. “Well? Is there a lovely female I need to know about?”

 

“She’s nothing.”

 

Blaise scoffed and Theo looked at him incredulously. “Granger is _not_ nothing. You are completely smitten and there is no point in trying to deny or ignore it.”

 

“Granger? The muggle-born girl?” Narcissa asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“See? And herein lies why it was a doomed union from the beginning!” Draco gestured to his mother, looking at his two friends.

 

“No offense to mummy Malfoy, but you’re a grown man, Draco,” Theo told him, tinkering with a wizarding chess set.

 

“You fell in love with the most famous muggle-born witch in history? In a month? Did you hex her?” his mother questioned.

 

“Of course not mother,” Draco looked disgusted. “Turns out its true—she is more forgiving and compassionate than any one person should be.”

 

“And you’re here, wasting away in bed instead of pursuing her, why?” Blaise asked.

 

“We argued. I wasn’t very polite or kind,” Draco lamented.

 

“Oh, so you were your usual boneheaded self, then?” Blaise questioned, rolling his eyes.

 

“So, make it up to her. Granger was completely taken with you—she refused Weasley for you,” Theo chided, making Draco feel ignorant and small.

 

Had she really denied Weasley? Had he attempted to bring her within his grasp once more, as Draco had suspected, and been unsuccessful? The thought made Draco’s chest ache with jealousy and unresolved anger and he rubbed the spot over his heart. As if his ministrations could ease the tension and hurt within him.

 

Draco looked to his mother who was regarding him with confusion. “If you’re waiting for approval from me—or disapproval—Theodore’s right. You are a grown man. This family has been ruled by traditions for centuries. Your father—he’s not coming back,” she managed to say, looking down at the floor to hide her grief. “If you feel strongly about her, don’t let the past dictate your future choices.”

 

Draco couldn’t believe the words his mother was speaking to him. For centuries, both the House of Black and the House of Malfoy had disowned anyone who dared step outside of the Pureblood circle. And now his mother was encouraging those types of dalliances. “What about our family?”

 

“What about a bunch of long-dead ancestors? I spent nearly two decades without my sister because of that foolishness. I can learn to adjust, Draco,” she told him, her lips drawn into a tight line but her eyes shining in earnest.

 

He put his head in his hands and sighed, trying to process the information, tamp down the memory of their hellacious argument and trying to formulate some kind of a plan in his mind. “Can everyone just get out of my room for a little while? I need to think.”

 

His mother ran a loving hand through his hair and furrowed her brow. “Maybe think in the shower, yes?”

 

Theo laughed and clapped a hand on his back. “What your mother is trying to tell you is, you fucking reek, mate.”

 

“Theodore,” Narcissa admonished with a small smirk. “He’s not wrong, dear.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes as the three left him alone. He had fucked up with Granger in a spectacular way. It was going to take more than just a letter and flowers to make this up to her. He dragged himself out of the bed and went into his bathroom for a cold shower. As the water splashed down into the tub, he adamantly refused to look at himself in the mirror. He was a despicable excuse for a man. The things he had said and called Granger were unacceptable.

 

The cold water hit him with a fearsome jolt, rattling his bones within. He leaned against the wall of the shower for more minutes than he could possibly keep track of as he pictured every way he could apologize to Granger. Maybe he _could_ go and meet her every weekend in Hogsmeade, drink butterbeer and she could discuss everything that she was learning in classes. But what about the week between meetings? Would he just while away the hours, moping in his bed and missing his little lioness?

 

Draco let out a growl of irritation and placed his forehead against the shower wall, slamming his fist next to him. He should never have gotten involved with her. He had only set himself up for heartache and had only strung her along until he couldn’t any longer, never giving her a clear depiction of exactly what he felt for her.

 

What did he feel for Granger? Finally running soap over his chest, his eyes fixed on a tile before him, he could clearly see her vibrant, radiant smile. The way her bottom lip stayed perpetually pouty as an after effect of her constant worrying of it. He could hear her sweet laugh, the tiny snorts she would get if he tickled her or if she got rolling on a joke and couldn’t stop herself. Her bright, expressive eyes bored into his soul. On the pad of his thumb, Draco could clearly feel the little wrinkles that developed under her eyes when she smiled, as he imagined running it over her cheekbone.

 

Something stirred in his heart, a faint fluttering that spread down into his stomach and felt dangerously close to butterflies. Granger was making him feel anxious, more so than he ever felt facing down Potter in Quidditch, more pleasantly nervous than he’d ever felt in the presence of the Dark Lord. It was a light pattering of his heart as he thought of the blossoming adoration he had felt for her and the ease he had felt in her presence.

 

Draco dressed quickly and let his feet carry him to the gardens. Theo and Blaise were busy schmoozing his mother and he rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m out of bed. What did you two imbeciles want?”

 

“We figured you would be wasting away in your bed after your abrupt departure from the island—which, by the way, I’d just like to personally thank you for taking our only international portkey. Getting back to England wasn’t a hassle at all,” Theo mused sarcastically.

 

“You made it, didn’t you?” Draco asked, flopping down into a seat at the table.

 

“Draco, why didn’t you tell me about Miss Granger when we floo called? If she has managed to make you half as happy as these two claim, then I would like to meet such an exceptional witch,” Narcissa told him, sipping her tea rigidly.

 

“Mother, I don’t even know what I feel for her yet,” he replied, staring out over the gardens.

 

The breeze was blowing lightly, ruffling the rose bushes around them, shaking their sweet fragrance about. His eyes glanced over until he found a bush of dahlias. All he could think about is the way Granger’s eyes had lit up with indignation over not knowing about flower lore. But she had listened to his every word, eager to soak up even such a minor amount of knowledge.

 

“—are you even listening?” his mother’s voice cut through his thoughts.

 

He hummed a response and his mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I was _saying_ , I would like to meet the two of you in Hogsmeade one weekend for lunch.”

 

Why would his mother need to meet him in Hogsmeade? His brain was not quite firing on all synapses. “Yes, yes, of course,” he agreed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

“You really need to write her a letter, ask her to meet you so you can apologize,” Blaise pressed.

 

“Grovel, more like,” Theo corrected and Draco kicked him under the table.

 

“Fuck off, mate,” he grumbled unhappily. “I don’t even know what I can say to her anymore. She’ll never want to speak to me again.”

 

“Draco, I guarantee this is not one-sided. From what these two have told me,” his mother began, giving him an accusing and pointed look, “she is absolutely crazy about you. A heartfelt apology can go a long way for a witch in love.”

 

Draco sputtered a sip of his butterbeer and coughed voraciously. “Love is a strong word, mother.”

 

“I know what I know, dragon.”

 

“Mate, you don’t have a lot of time to waste. Do you want her to go back to Hogwarts and find a new bloke? She’s a War heroine—the potential suitors will be innumerable. There will be letters from all over the world, offering her anything she would ever want in exchange for her hand in marriage. You need to get in there and reclaim what is yours!” Theo told him forcefully.

 

Draco thought about what Theo was saying. He knew there would be dozens of letters every day delivered to Granger. There probably already was. She was beautiful, successful, intelligent. Any wizard would be lucky to have her and anyone not willing to try was a damned fool. He sat back in his chair once more and sighed. How could he possibly get back into her good graces?

 

Granger was forgiving. She had forgiven him for his inactions where his aunt was concerned at Easter, she had forgiven the fact that he had taken the Mark to begin with, she had forgiven his sullen and brash moods. She had been able to look past his indiscretions and see him for who he truly was. It was one of the reasons he was so taken with her—her caring, loving and forgiving spirit.

 

But the things he had said to her, called her, where unforgivable. This was not done out of fear that his family would die. No. He had spoken those words with the intent to hurt her. To draw a visceral response from her as he cut her down in the best way he knew how—verbally. Draco was nothing but a bully, and try as he might, those inherent traits had not left him just yet.

 

“How will I get her to speak to me ever again? I accused her of being a slag and of double-timing me with Weasley,” Draco lamented, hanging his head in his hands as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

“You need to think long and hard about your future,” his mother recommended. “What do you want for your life? Where do you see yourself working? Do you see yourself working?”

 

Granger had asked him that very question once upon a time. Draco has never given true thought to what he would want to do for a career. He knew he needed one—following in his father’s footsteps and simply riding on the coattails of his forefathers’ prominence was no longer an option. He needed an activity to keep his mind active. “I don’t know,” he finally answered truthfully.

 

His mother gave him a pitying look that made him inexplicably uncomfortable. “Draco,” she tried again, “do you intend to work?”

 

“Yes,” he replied shortly. “But where I am unsure.”

 

“You will need your NEWTs in order to find a decent position within any of the respectable entities,” she reasoned for him.

 

“I can get a private tutor,” he waved his hand and she snapped her mouth shut, frustrated with him for reasons he did not quite understand.

 

“Fine, do you see Miss Granger in your future?” she tried again, using her Slytherin cunning to milk an answer from him.

 

He was silent a beat as he weighed his options. He so desperately wanted her to be there, to love him each and every day. But Draco Malfoy was no fool—he knew that his chances with her were slim to none. “I want her to be.”

 

“Then, Draco, you need to formulate a plan to get your witch back,” Blaise told him slowly.

 

Draco thought about what his friend was saying to him, the implication of what his mother was asking of him. A plan? He needed to formulate a plan with which to apologize profusely to her and grovel for her forgiveness and woo her endlessly until she fell for him as wholly as he had fallen for her. But what? That was the question of the hour.

 

o-o-o

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

 

Hermione straightened the sleeves of her robes proudly as the Hogwarts Express pulled up to the platform at Hogsmeade Station. She had remained at the castle for the last few weeks of the summer and had ridden a carriage to Hogsmeade with Professor Flitwick to greet the students arriving for their school year.

 

The War was over, and Hogwarts was forever changed. There would be new Houses, new alliances, and new rivalries to contend with, on top of the old prejudices that would no doubt remain in the students’ hearts. The castle was marked and marred, though the professors had all done a spectacular job repairing what they could.

 

Hermione’s nerves were singing within her as the train whistled a piercing blow and let out a fresh plume of steam, slowing to a stop with a _chug chug chug_ noise. All of the students within had no idea what kind of world they were returning to. Hermione took relief in the thought, that, for the first real time since she had begun attending classes within the castle walls, it was safe to attend. Though she was an adult, she took solace in the idea that she would have one year—one _uneventful_ year—to study intently and not worry about saving the wizarding world.

 

The doors slid open and a few anxious looking first years stumbled out. Hagrid stood on the end of the platform, beckoning the new youths with a sweep of his giant paw and a gruff, “Firs’ years, this way!”

 

Students filtered out and Hermione put on her best bossy voice to direct them toward the thestral-drawn carriages. It was difficult for her to look at the skeletal beasts, knowing that the only reason she could see them was because she had seen far more death in her life than any one witch ever should have.

 

“Come along students—board the carriages, four to a carriage!” she called, watching the students move quickly but apprehensively toward the carriages.

 

There was a loud buzzing as everyone was chatting nervously, making their way toward the carriages. A group of girls were hugging tightly, crowding up the platform’s exit and causing a bottlenecking of bodies. “Keep moving along to the carriages!” Hermione called, her hands on her hips.

 

“You know, you’re sexy as hell when you take on that authoritative tone,” came a velvety drawl from behind her.

 

Merlin help her, she had cursed that blond-haired git’s name for weeks now, but the sound of his voice caused a shiver to creep down her spine. She steeled her features, desperate not to give away how something as trivial as his voice affected her. The last of the students filtered out of the door as she turned around and he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and one foot crossed over the other, his toe to the ground casually. He had a deep smirk on his face, though Hermione knew him well enough now to know that the guarded look in his eye meant he felt uncertainty.

 

Hermione took in the sight of him, all lean and toned, mysterious and broody in his all-black ensemble. His hair was recently trimmed, and he looked like he had finally gotten some rest. For fuck’s sake, Malfoy looked stunningly handsome. And Hermione loathed him for it.

 

“What are you doing here?” she finally managed to ask, crossing her own arms in a defiant manner.

 

Malfoy was the last person she had expected to see upon her return to Hogwarts. Having cursed his name for weeks, her heart absolutely shattered into a million small shards, and she felt virulently angry. “I should think it’s obvious, Granger,” he told her, perhaps trying to convey the meaning through such a simple statement.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him and he looked over her shoulder at a pair of nosy third years. “Why don’t you come in here for a minute and we can talk?”

 

“We need to get onto a carriage, Malfoy. Or we’ll miss them all together.”

 

“And? We both know our way up to the castle without,” he protested, standing up and away from the door finally.

 

Hermione could not argue with that logic, though Headmistress McGonagall’s face swirled in her mind as she tried to picture walking into the Great Hall during her speech, her hand in Draco Malfoy’s. “Come on, just hear me out for two minutes and then we can board the carriages. These little brats are still clambering about, trying to figure out their arses from a hole in the ground.”

 

A second year shot him a glare and huffed an indignant, “Hey!”

 

Hermione dropped her arms to hang limply by her sides and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Two minutes.”

 

She sauntered onto the train after him and he slid the door closed to the compartment. Malfoy hesitated only a moment before turning around to face her. “Well?” she asked forcefully, not wanting to begin thinking about their summer together, lest she start crying over their ending.

 

He sat on the seat behind him, leaning forward on his knees and scrubbed a hand over his face, curling it around his mouth for a moment as his silvery gaze fixated on her. “I know I fucked up, Hermione. I’ve had weeks to come to terms with that.”

 

“Oh, did you finally realize that I wasn’t in love with Ron? Even though I explicitly told you that?”

 

“I’m sorry, okay?” he leaned up, his cheeks pinkening to a lovely shade. “I never apologize to anyone, but I’m sorry for how it ended. I can never apologize enough for calling you names. It was despicable and low of me and I am so sorry, Hermione.”

 

“It didn’t need to end at all—but _you’re_ the one who refused to face the fact that I was returning to school, refused to acknowledge anything besides a summer tryst!” she fumed.

 

He recoiled slightly, his face furrowing. “It’s quite insulting that you would possibly think me low enough that I would merely _use_ you for summertime sex!”

 

“If that’s not what this was, then what was it?” she demanded, stepping closer to him when he stood once more and prodding his chest with a harsh poke of her finger.

 

“I—I think I’m in love with you,” he mumbled, his face glowing scarlet.

 

“You—” Hermione’s brain processed his words slowly and her mouth fell open. “What?”

 

Malfoy lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I think I fell in love with you this summer. I know I told you that you _were_ my summer. But I’d like you to be my autumn, winter, and spring as well. For as long as you’d have me.”

 

Hermione’s heart began to patter erratically and her hands shook as she translated his words into something she could remotely understand. “Love…me?”

 

Malfoy cleared his throat and looked away haughtily. “Well…yes. But if you don’t feel the same way, I suppose I came back to this infernal castle for no reason. I certainly could have paid a tutor to help me pass my NEWTs.”

 

Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat and she stepped into him, pulling his flushed face to hers. Her kiss was bruising, and he smiled into it, lifting his own hands to cradle her face gently. Hermione’s hands slid over his sides to grasp the belt loops of his trousers in her fists. He pulled his face away and draped his arms over her shoulders, tugging an errant curl. “I’ll take that to mean you’re happy I returned?”

 

“I think I might have fallen in love with you as well.”

 

“It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, does it?” he asked her, his eyebrow quirked.

 

“Not one iota. But I’m not going to keep questioning why I feel things for you,” she admitted, placing her forehead against his chest.

 

“You’re the only person who’s made me feel _anything_ in years, Hermione. I want to continue feeling everything I felt this summer—excitement, love, happiness,” he told her, and it felt more like a vow than a declaration to Hermione.

 

“Thanks for coming back to school,” she smiled up at him sheepishly.

 

“I’m only here to pass my NEWTs,” he answered casually, grinning through his teasing.

 

She poked him sharply in the ribs. “You already told me you could have hired a tutor.”

 

“It was the only way to get my girl back. I’ll gladly suffer through History of Magic one more year if it means I get to keep you,” he told her, taking her lips with his once more in a kiss that left Hermione’s knees weak and her resolve even weaker.

 

Hermione Granger was inexplicably in love with Draco Malfoy, and she intended to show him every day and in every way. Fuck all what everyone else would say or think. She backed him against the wall of the cabin they were in, drawing the curtains with a lazy flick of her wand. He raised a pale eyebrow and smirked in a way that softened his features and was impossibly sexy. The witch, Merlin help her, had missed this. Missed him.

 

Her hands wove into the hair at the nape of his neck as Malfoy bent to lave at her pulse point. “We are going to properly christen,” he began, sucking at a spot just below her ear, eliciting a deep moan to fall from her lips, “every room in the newly-refurbished castle.”

 

Hermione hummed in response, her fingers curling around his lapels as she clung to him. His hands went below her skirt, running up the backs of her thighs until he was cupping her arse firmly in his grip. “I will have you on every horizontal surface in this school—and perhaps a few vertical as well,” he growled, pushing her against the prominent bulge in his trousers.

 

There was a jerk and the floor below them began to sway as the train started once more.

 

“Shit!” she screeched, taking his hand and throwing the door open. “We need to get into the carriages and head up to the castle…there’s a lot of changes happening this year.”

 

“Let’s hurry quick then!” he laughed, taking her hand as they jumped from the slow-moving train and ran across the platform toward the carriages.

 

“You’re not worried about the resorting?” she questioned quietly, trying to catch her breath and not to show her own anxiety over the possibilities.

 

He shrugged. “It’s of little consequence. I just want you to be aware…I know I’m not going to be looked upon in a very good light, Hermione. I will be a social pariah of sorts and if my poor standing in the community begins to weigh on you at any point, I would not blame you for leaving.”

 

Hermione stopped him just before she climbed up into a carriage. “You are an amazing person. People will see that if you give them a chance.”

 

“I’m an abrasive prick,” he rolled his eyes at her optimism.

 

“True,” she agreed and he let out an indignant huff, causing her to laugh. “But you don’t _have_ to be. You can be decent when you try.”

 

Malfoy held out his hand for her to brace herself on as she climbed up into the carriage. Seated across from two fourth years who stared openly at the pair, he draped his arm around her languidly, as though they had never been separated. Hermione felt a contented warmth settle over her. No matter the house, she would be beginning the year with a fresh start—a new house, a new beau, a new purpose.

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione and Malfoy sat together at one of the round tables across from Harry and Luna. “I’m a little disappointed I wasn’t sorted into my name’s sake,” the blond commented, taking a long pull of pumpkin juice.

 

He and Hermione both had been sorted into Occamys House—the house of loyalty and protectiveness. “It would seem that Hermione had someone on her mind as she helped Headmistress McGonagall select creatures,” Luna, a new member of the Unicorn House, laughed, shaking her head so her giant drink-umbrella earrings swayed.

 

“Have you noticed the attention the two of you are attracting?” Harry, a newly sanctioned member of Hippogriff House, commented, nodding over their shoulders at a table of third years who were whispering rather ostentatiously.

 

“Doesn’t seem to be a problem to me, how about you, Granger?” Malfoy asked, placing a possessive hand on her thigh as he took a bite of chicken.

 

“I couldn’t care less what others were thinking or saying,” she replied shortly. “Does it bother you, Harry?”

 

“Me?” the raven-haired wizard asked, pointing to his chest. “Hell no. Takes the focus off of me for a while. Carry on.”

 

At that, the four ragtag friends laughed loudly and Luna reminisced over the events and magical setting that had brought them all together. They remembered Cosrosa fondly, but Hermione was ready to embark on this new chapter of her life, with Draco Malfoy by her side.

 

o-o-o


End file.
